DOROTHEA  GERARD 


86  5 


THE     SUPREME     CRIME 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

ONE  YEAR 

LADY   BABY 

THE   CONQUEST   OF   LONDON 


T 1 1  E 

SUPREME    CRIME 


^  ROT 


NEW 

CO. 


arij  ni  bariiBaiw    ,miri  atotecJ  aurfa  Jsa  3/ig  zA 
83VB3l  aniv  lo  nohfijimi  ^zmijl-,'  I  absm 

B  noqu  gaisloo!  sd 


jefore  him,  wreathed  in  the  trails 
that  made  a  sort  of  clumsy  imitation  of  vine  leaves,  he 
seemed  to  be  looking  upon  a  Bacchante." — Page  78. 


THE 

SUPREME    CRIME 

BY 

DOROTHEA     GERARD 

(MADAME  LONGARD  DE  LONGGARDE) 


DER  SCHLIMMSTK  WURM,  DES  ZWEIPELS  DOLCHGEDANKEN  ' 

HEINE 


NEW    YORK 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    CO. 

PUBLISHERS 

1901 


. 


Edinburgh  :  T.  and  A.  CONSTACLK,  (late)  Printers  to  Her  Majesty 


NOTE 

FOR  the  enlightenment  of  English  readers  little 
acquainted  with  the  religious  customs  of  Eastern 
Europe,  it  is  as  well  to  point  out,  at  the  beginning 
of  this  story  of  Ruthenian  life  in  Austria,  that  the 
representatives  of  this  class  belong  to  the  branch 
of  the  Greek  Church  united  to  Rome,  in  which 
matrimony,  although  not  absolutely  obligatory 
for  the  clergy,  is  the  almost  universal  condition. 
An  aspirant  not  married  at  his  ordination  must 
be  celibate  for  life — a  rule  which  results  in  all 
Ruthenian  priests,  with  very  rare  exceptions, 
being  married  men. 


2229093 


CHAPTER     I 

/^REGOR  PETROW  settled  his  cravat  before 
v_T  the  little  glass  on  the  wall,  looking  at 
himself  critically  the  while.  What  he  saw  there 
was  a  young,  narrow,  rather  hollow-cheeked  face, 
above  which  the  reddish  fair  hair  showed  an  in- 
clination to  stand  up.  The  eyes  were  of  a  clear, 
transparent  blue,  and  a  trifle  too  wide  open, 
which,  in  conjunction  with  the  upright  hair,  gave 
him  a  slightly  startled  expression.  About  the 
large,  mobile,  and  well-shaped  mouth  there  was 
a  suggestion  of  harshness,  corrected  by  something 
sunny  in  the  depth  of  those  transparent  blue  eyes — 
the  eyes  of  a  boy  who  has  not  yet  done  wondering 
at  the  place  he  finds  himself  in.  A  fine  young 
fellow,  taken  all  in  all,  despite  a  slight  stoop  in  the 
shoulders,  and  with  the  hand  and  foot  of  a  woman — 
delicate,  narrow,  and  yet  strongly  moulded. 

But  the  picture  did  not  please  him  ;  with  a  sigh  of 
discouragement  he  turned  from  the  glass  and  made 
a  few  irresolute  steps  about  the  room.  It  was  a 
small,  low  apartment,  with  white-washed  walls,  a 
brick  stove  in  one  corner,  and  a  mud  floor  ;  for 
furniture  a  cast-iron  bedstead,  a  deal  table,  and  a 
A 


2  THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

bench  on  which  lay  a  cushion  stuffed  with  maize 
straw,  and  which  did  duty  as  sofa.  But  for  the 
primitive  book-shelf  on  the  wall,  and  the  absence  of 
chickens  and  pigs,  it  might  have  passed  for  an  ex- 
ceptionally clean  peasant  room.  Both  the  small 
windows  were  wide  open  on  to  the  village  street. 
Gregor  Petrow  stopped  beside  one  of  them,  and  with 
widened  nostrils  drank  in  the  syringa  scent  which 
the  spring  air  carried  in  with  it,  for  this  was  May, 
and  straight  opposite  there  grew  a  tall  syringa  bush 
which  leaned  as  impetuously  over  the  wicker-work 
paling  as  though  bent  upon  casting  itself  down  into 
the  road.  Beetles  on  the  wing  skimmed  past,  with 
open-beaked  swallows  hard  on  their  trail.  The  air 
was  full  of  minute,  floating  things,  such  as  the  petals 
of  overblown  flowers,  tiny  seedlings,  and  almost 
invisible  clouds  of  green  or  yellow  pollen,  which  the 
breeze  was  conveying  about  the  country  as  is  its 
mission  during  this  busiest  of  Nature's  seasons. 

Gregor  Petrow's  brow  cleared  as  he  stood  there 
gazing  before  him,  and  when  he  turned  from  the 
window  it  was  with  a  more  resolute  movement,  as 
though  the  syringa  scent  had  been  a  strong  wine, 
drowning  the  doubts  which,  a  minute  before,  still 
disturbed  him.  He  went  back  again  to  the  glass 
and  finished  settling  his  cravat,  gave  one  touch  of 
the  brush  to  his  black  Sunday  coat  (and  yet  this 
was  Wednesday),  and,  picking  up  his  best  hat,  left 
the  house  with  the  step  of  a  man  whose  mind  is 
made  up. 

It  was  the  hour  at  which  the  cows  were  being 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  3 

driven  home  from  pasture,  and  Gregor  was  scarcely 
out  in  the  narrow  lane  which  did  duty  as  street, 
before  he  had  to  range  himself  against  the 
wattled  paling,  in  order  to  save  his  only  decent 
pair  of  trousers  from  being  unduly  spattered.  As  a 
rule  his  attire  was  the  thing  in  the  world  which 
occupied  him  the  least,  but  this  was  a  solemn 
occasion,  and  it  would  not  do  to  present  himself 
before  the  Pope  (parish  priest)  in  soiled  garments. 
The  disadvantage  of  these  pauses  in  his  progress 
was  that  it  exposed  him  helpless  to  the  attacks  of 
the  small  cowherds,  who  could  not  think  of  letting 
slip  so  good  an  opportunity  of  kissing  somebody's 
hand.  A  monotonous  ceremony  this,  and  a  slightly 
grimy  one ;  but  Gregor  bore  it  with  an  equanimity 
which  at  moments  looked  like  pleasure.  Sometimes, 
at  the  sight  of  some  familiar  shaggy  head,  the  light 
which  dwelt  at  the  back  of  his  blue  eyes  would  look 
out  suddenly,  and  the  way  in  which  his  severe  mouth 
relaxed  in  answering  to  each  separate  '  'Slawas ' 
(greeting)  spoke  of  the  existence  of  some  bond 
between  the  fair-haired  youth  and  the  ragged 
urchins. 

At  last  he  was  free  of  the  lane  and  out  on  a  green 
common  sprinkled  with  white  geese,  where  hobbled 
horses  were  patiently  grazing,  and  round  which  the 
huts  squatted  in  an  irregular  circle,  each  with  a  few 
apple-trees  beside  it,  in  full  blossom  at  this  moment, 
and  giving  the  impression  of  a  huge,  straggly  white 
wreath.  Just  now  it  was  a  picture  painted  almost 
entirely  in  green  and  white,  for  the  birchwood  which 


4  THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

stood  up  to  the  very  edge  of  the  common  was  in  its 
first  and  most  vivid  leaf.  Only  the  blue  of  the 
mountain  line  to  the  west  contrasted  with  the 
universal  tints. 

At  one  spot — it  was  the  spot  where  stood  the 
only  building  that  was  not  a  hut — the  white  wreath 
seemed  to  thicken  to  a  knot,  and  towards  that  point 
Gregor  took  his  direction,  following  the  cart-track — 
two  ribbons  of  dust  divided  by  a  rib  of  green,  where 
the  grass  grew  obstinately  between  the  marks  of  the 
wheels.  Gregor's  hand  shook  slightly  as  he  pushed 
open  the  wooden  gate  which  stood  hospitably  ajar. 
The  wave  of  perfume  which  met  him  inside  was 
almost  overpowering,  for  the  house  barely  looked 
out  of  a  tangle  of  lilac  bushes,  and  on  the  grass  plot 
before  it  narcissus  and  lily  of  the  valley,  in  full 
prime,  ran  riot  at  their  sweet  pleasure.  Hens  and 
ducks  walked  about,  also  at  their  pleasure,  and  at 
Gregor's  approach  a  pig  fled  squealing  round  the 
corner,  for  the  garden  melted  indefinitely  into  the 
farm-yard,  and  that  again  into  an  ancient  orchard, 
where  more  moss  grew  on  the  trunks  than  fruit  on 
the  branches. 

A  small  wooden  porch,  jutting  out  right  into  the 
sea  of  lilac  blossoms,  formed  the  entrance,  and 
having  mounted  the  five  or  six  steps  which  led  to 
it,  Gregor  found  himself  abruptly  in  presence  of  the 
eldest  daughter  of  the  house.  She  was  busy  gather- 
ing a  bunch  of  lilacs — she  had  only  to  lean  over  the 
wooden  balustrade  to  do  so — and  at  sound  of  his  step 
turned  round  in  the  very  act  of  breaking  a  branch. 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  5 

'  Panna  Zenobia ! '  said  Gregor,  in  sudden  con- 
fusion, for  he  had  not  counted  on  finding  himself 
alone  with  her — it  did  not  fit  into  his  programme. 

The  girl  evidently  was  as  surprised  as  he,  though 
she  did  not  speak  at  once.  It  would  have  been 
difficult  to  tell  her  age,  as  is  usually  the  case  with 
very  dark  women,  but  in  reality  she  was  scarcely 
twenty.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  almost  as 
difficult  to  decide  whether  she  was  handsome  or 
plain.  To  an  eye  unused  to  the  physiognomies  of 
the  country,  the  Semitic  strain  would  probably 
have  appeared  too  pronounced  to  be  agreeable,  for 
her  mother  was  of  Armenian  blood,  and  Zenobia 
Mostewicz  undoubtedly  showed  a  reversal  to  the 
Armenian  type.  The  first  flush  of  surprise  once 
passed  it  became  clear  that  her  rather  long  face  was 
habitually  pale,  with  that  sort  of  opaque  pallor 
which  is  peculiar  to  some  orientals.  The  eyes  were 
long,  and  dark,  and  seldom  quite  open,  as  though 
the  eyelids  were  too  heavy  to  be  completely  raised. 
A  certain  heaviness  altogether  marked  the  features 
which  yet  were  almost  quite  regular.  Her  magni- 
ficent coal-black  hair  was  of  the  sleek,  shiny  order, 
and  her  thick  eye-brows  almost  met  at  the  root  of  a 
well-cut  nose.  With  this  an  almost  majestic  stature, 
and  a  fine,  supple  figure,  carried  somewhat  too 
languidly. 

'  Can  I  speak  to  the  Pope  ? '  asked  Gregor,  rather 
precipitately,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

'  My  father  is  not  yet  back,  but  my  mother  is  at 
home.' 


6  THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

From  under  her  heavy  eyelids  she  had,  before 
answering,  thrown  a  wonderfully  rapid  glance  at  his 
holiday  attire. 

'  No,  thank  you,  I  will  not  disturb  the  Popadia ' 
(the  usual  designation  for  a  priest's  wife),  said 
Gregor,  if  possible  more  precipitately. 

'  I  forgot,  you  could  not  speak  to  her  now,  at  any 
rate  ;  she  is  busy,  arranging  about  Jerena  Rylko's 
marriage,  I  believe.' 

'  I  will  not  disturb  her.  Where  are  you  going  to 
put  these  flowers  ?  ' 

'  I  meant  them  for  the  Matka  Boska  (Mother  of 
God),  in  the  orchard.  It  is  her  month,  you  know.' 

'  Are  you  going  to  take  them  there  now  ? ' 

She  looked  at  him  again  furtively,  and  did  not 
answer  at  once.  It  was  evident  that  if  she  took  the 
flowers  to  the  orchard,  he  would  accompany  her, 
and  there  seemed  to  be  something  disturbing  in  the 
thought.  From  him  her  eyes  wandered  down  to  the 
garden  and  fell  straight  upon  the  identical  pig  which 
had  fled  at  Gregor's  arrival,  now  flying  back  round 
the  corner,  followed  by  two  girls  in  short  frocks, 
whose  stockings  were  half-way  down  their  bare  legs. 
Zenobia's  face  cleared  ;  the  problem  was  solved. 

'  Yes,  I  shall  take  the  flowers.  Wasylya,  Paraska ! ' 
she  called  over  the  balustrade.  '  Come  and  help  me 
to  carry  the  flowers  to  the  Matka  Boska  !  We  shall 
just  have  time  before  supper.' 

With  a  shriek  of  delight  Wasylya  and  Paraska 
complied,  to  the  evident  relief  of  the  pig,  who  returned, 
grunting,  to  his  revels  in  the  onion  beds.  They  were 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  7 

two  black-haired  brats  of  respectively  ten  and  thirteen 
years  of  age,  with  dancing  black  eyes,  vividly  pink 
cheeks,  and  cotton  frocks  which  ought  to  have  been 
in  the  wash  at  least  three  days  ago.  Wasylya,  the 
elder  of  the  two,  had  stuck  a  row  of  narcissus  into 
her  dense  black  hair,  hooked  two  small  twigs  of  lilac 
over  her  ears  in  the  guise  of  somewhat  barbarous 
earrings,  and  hung  a  necklace  of  pansies  round  her 
neck.  She  seemed  in  high  spirits  at  her  artistic 
invention. 

'You  must  take  these  off,'  said  the  elder  sister 
severely,  as — the  two  girls  having  first  lustily  fought 
for  the  biggest  bunch  to  carry — they  were  crossing 
the  yard  towards  the  orchard.  '  You  cannot  go  to 
the  Matka  Boska  in  these  ridiculous  ornaments.' 

'  Ridiculous  ornaments  ! '  echoed  Wasylya  in  shrill- 
toned  indignation.  '  What  is  there  ridiculous  about 
narcissus  and  lilac  ?  You  don't  find  them  ridiculous 
in  the  garden  ?  ' 

'  But  on  your  head,  I  do.  You  would  not  go  to 
church  like  that  on  Sunday,  would  you?' 

'  Perhaps  not ;  and  yet  I  know  they  look  well 
there.  All  right ! '  she  laughed  gaily,  '  I  '11  throw 
them  to  the  ducks,  and  gather  new  ones  after 
supper ! '  And  gleefully  pulling  off  her  flower 
necklace  she  shied  it  at  a  passing  hen. 

It  was  clear  that  the  orchard  had  not  always 
been  an  orchard ;  the  stone  urn  standing  under 
an  apple-tree,  with  a  pair  of  stone  legs  beside  it 
which  had  probably  once  belonged  to  a  weeping 
angel,  a  mouldy  cross  aslant,  and  a  fragment  of 


8  THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

iron  railing  which,  just  visible  above  the  nettles, 
leaned  in  one  corner — all  this,  together  with  the 
slightly  undulating  surface  of  the  ground,  was  enough 
to  point  out  its  original  destination.  But  the  thought 
of  the  bones  mouldering  underfoot  never  seemed 
to  spoil  anybody's  appetite  for  the  pears  and  apples 
growing  overhead. 

'There  is  a  good  show  of  blossoms  this  year,' 
said  Gregor,  looking  up  at  the  dense  canopy,  and 
rather  at  a  loss  for  a  subject  of  conversation. 

Zenobia  made  some  indifferent  answer  and  walked 
on  straight  in  front  of  him  along  the  narrow  path. 
He  gazed  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  in  the 
nervousness  of  the  moment  the  amber  shades  at  the 
roots  of  her  black  hair  seemed  to  touch  his  imagina- 
tion as  they  had  never  done  before.  He  did  not 
know  whether  to  be  provoked  or  glad  at  the  presence 
of  the  two  younger  sisters ;  with  them  away  he  felt 
almost  certain  that  he  would  at  that  moment,  and 
quite  contrary  to  his  original  resolution,  have  put  his 
fate  to  the  touch,  but  with  Wasylya  and  Paraska 
flying  backwards  and  forwards  across  the  path, 
throwing  their  hats  over  beetles  and  butterflies 
and  making  ineffectual  grabs  at  their  limp  garters, 
everything  but  commonplaces  became  an  impos- 
sibility.. 

The  Matka  Boska  herself  was  obviously  a  former 
grave  monument,  though  all  that  remained  legible 
of  the  inscription  on  the  battered  pillar  on  which 
she  stood  was  the  date  of  some  forty  years  back. 
Zenobia  began  to  pull  off  the  faded  lilacs  of  yesterday, 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  9 

which  festooned  the  pillar,  and  Gregor  coming  to  her 
assistance  it  happened  not  unnaturally  that  their 
bare  hands  more  than  once  came  in  contact,  at  which 
moments  he  was  astonished  to  see  her  shiver  and 
draw  her  black  brows  together,  as  though  in  pain ; 
was  he  then  so  disagreeable  to  her?  A  bad  prospect 
for  his  errand  of  to-day. 

When  the  flowers  had  been  arranged  there  was 
a  pause. 

'  I  think  we  ought  to  say  a  prayer,'  said  Zenobia 
at  last,  a  little  diffidently. 

'  Very  well ;  but  who  is  to  say  it  ?  ' 

'  You,  I  think  ;  you  are  accustomed  to  pray  with 
the  children  in  the  school.' 

'  I  ? '  he  hesitated.  '  Very  well,  I  will  say  it '  ;  and 
as  they  all  knelt  down  on  the  short  grass,  he  folded 
his  hands  as  simply  as  a  child  might  have  done  and 
spoke  the  '  Our  Father '  in  a  slightly  tremulous  but 
wonderfully  melodious  voice,  and  in  that  accent  in 
which  it  is  too  seldom  heard — the  accent  of  deep 
conviction.  The  thought  that  this  day  was  to  be  a 
turning-point  in  his  life  put  an  earnestness  into  his 
appeal  for  help  which  moved  even  the  two  children, 
who,  as  the  little  congregation  again  stood  up, 
measured  him  with  awe-stricken  glances,  just  as 
though  they  had  discovered  a  new  person. 

No  one  had  spoken  yet  when  a  shrill  call  was 
heard  from  the  house. 

'  The  Mamusia  (little  mother)  is  calling  us  to 
supper ! '  said  Paraska,  racing  off,  while  Wasylya 
lingered  to  pick  up  the  remains  of  the  flowers,  with 


io          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

which  she  immediately  began  to  replace  the  necklace 
and  earrings  recently  discarded. 

On  the  doorstep  of  the  back  entrance  which  faced 
towards  the  orchard  stood  a  long,  lean  woman  in 
a  dirty  dressing-jacket  Her  face  could  be  called 
either  dark-yellow  or  light-brown,  according  to 
individual  opinion,  and  presented  a  large  amount 
of  tough,  leathery  surface.  She  had  a  haggard,  tired- 
looking  appearance,  and  the  quick-moving  eyes  of 
a  person  on  whose  shoulders  rest  many  cares.  Just 
at  present  she  was  pulling  violently  at  the  buttons 
of  her  dressing-jacket — no  wonder  that  there  were 
only  two  remaining — from  which  symptom  Zenobia 
knew  that  her  mother  was  in  a  temper. 

'  Ah,  Gregor  Petrow ! '  she  said,  in  an  unpleasantly 
rasping  voice ;  '  so  you  have  remembered  that  we 
are  still  alive  ?  That 's  right ! '  But  she  said  it  as 
though  it  were  all  wrong.  '  The  Pope  will  be  glad 
to  see  you,'  she  added,  about  as  sweetly  as  though 
she  were  swallowing  a  spoonful  of  vinegar. 

'  Is  the  Pope  come  home  ? ' 

'  Yes,  he  is  home,'  and,  with  a  new  contraction  of 
her  sunken  chin,  she  led  the  way  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER    II 

IN  a  low-ceilinged  room,  whose  windows  even  by 
day  were  darkened  by  the  lilac  bushes,  a  petro- 
leum lamp  was  already  burning,  and  the  frugal  even- 
ing fare  spread — the  kolesha  of  the  country  (a  sort 
of  maize  porridge),  supplemented  by  a  tureen-full  of 
sour  cream.  Father  Nikodem, whose  appetite,  brought 
back  from  the  afternoon's  excursion,  would  brook  no 
delay,  was  hard  at  work  already.  He  was  a  big, 
stout  man,  as  dark  as  the  rest  of  the  family,  with 
black  hair  sprinkled  in  pepper  and  salt  style,  and 
whose  almost  perfectly  round  face  was  supplemented 
by  a  handsome  double  chin.  The  eyes  were  likewise 
quite  round,  and  set  in  such  thick  lashes  that  when 
he  turned  them  suddenly  upon  a  person  they  gave 
the  impression  of  being  touched  up  with  charcoal. 
His  parishioners  approved  of  him,  not  because  he 
was  one  of  those  good  average  priests  who,  un- 
hampered by  higher  ideals,  fulfil  their  duties  in  a 
punctual,  business-like  fashion,  but  because  he  talked 
and  laughed  loudly,  told  good  stories,  even  during 
his  sermons,  and  made  the  bargaining  about  the 
price  of  a  funeral  or  a  wedding  an  almost  amusing, 
if  unprofitable,  practice.  In  the  very  tone  in  which 


u 


12          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

he  boisterously  welcomed  Gregor  to  his  board  the 
whole  man  was  reflected,  a  coarse-grained  but  genuine 
nature  ;  and,  indeed,  the  jovial  Pope  never  looked 
more  in  place  than  when  receiving  a  guest  on  his 
doorstep,  or  filling  his  glass  at  table.  Whatever 
cause  had  cast  a  gloom  upon  the  Popadia's  humour 
had  obviously  had  no  effect  upon  his,  or  rather  had 
produced  a  contrary  one.  From  the  first  moment  it 
had  been  evident  that  some  joke  was  tickling  him 
vastly,  which  nothing  but  the  warning  glances  of  his 
wife  kept  him  from  making  public — but  not  for  long. 
The  company  had  been  eating  kolesha  for  hardly 
three  minutes  when  the  Pope  exploded,  unfortunately 
just  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  ladling  another  spoonful 
of  cream  into  his  ample  mouth. 

'It's  no  use,  Justina,  it's  no  use!'  he  gasped, 
wiping  the  traces  of  the  catastrophe  from  the  breast 
of  his  black  soutane.  '  It  won't  be  suppressed.  To 
keep  it  from  Gregor  Petrow  would  be  to  cheat  him 
of  a  good  story,  and  that 's  a  thing  which  has  always 
gone  against  my  conscience  ;  just  think  how  precious 
an  honest  laugh  is  in  this  valley  of  tears  ! ' 

'  I  don't  see  anything  good  in  the  story,'  said  the 
Popadia,  savagely  hacking  at  her  kolesha.  'And  how 
a  priest  of  God  can  find  pleasure  in  exposing  himself 
to  ridicule ' 

Father  Nikodem  made  a  funny  grimace.  '  If 
priests  of  God  did  nothing  worse  than  that — But 
there!  let  Gregor  Petrow  judge  for  himself!  You 
must  know' — and  he  turned  his  round,  merry  eyes 
upon  his  guest — 'that  Mitru  Skribnek  was  buried 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  13 

this  afternoon.'  He  laughed  again  till  he  choked, 
as  though  the  fact  mentioned  were  quite  irresistibly 
comical.  '  He  had  fifteen  head  of  cattle,  so  not  un- 
naturally we  counted  on  getting  something  hand- 
some for  the  funeral.  Yesterday  Jurko  Skribnek 
was  here  to  settle  matters,  and  it  was  Justina  there 
who  undertook  to  speak  to  him.  She's  a  far  better 
hand  at  it  generally  than  I  am — generally,  I  say,  but 
not  always.'  The  Pope  winked  across  knowingly  at 
his  wife's  gloomy  face.  '  Well,  Justina  had  taken  it 
into  her  head  that,  all  things  considered,  we  had  a 
right  to  expect  the  best  price  ever  to  be  had,  so 
naturally  she  began  by  asking  fifty  florins,  while 
they  started  off  with  fifteen,  At  the  end  of  an  hour 
they  had  got  no  nearer  than  twenty,  while  Justina 
had  come  down  to  forty.  There  the  matter  stuck. 
"  If  the  Pope  can't  come  and  fetch  him  for  less,  then 
we  shan't  trouble  him  to  come  so  far,"  said  Jurko, 
who  always  was  one  of  your  pert  ones  for  answering. 
"  We  shall  be  content  if  he  meets  us  in  the  church- 
yard and  seals  up  the  grave  ;  he 's  bound  to  do  that, 
and,  of  course,  we  '11  pay  him  the  regulation  tax." 

'  Upon  this  they  went,  and  Justina  let  them  go, 
never  doubting  to  see  them  back  again.  Was  it 
likely  that  a  family  with  fifteen  cows  would  let  their 
head  be  carried  to  his  grave  without  candles  and 
song  ?  A  mere  sealing-up  is  what  the  very  pauper 
gets.  But  yesterday  evening  passed,  and  so  did  this 
morning,  and  by  midday  Justina  began  to  grow 
seriously  restless.  "  Fifty  florins  is  a  fine  thing,"  she 
said  to  me  at  last,  "  but  twenty  florins  is  better  than 


H          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

nothing.  It  almost  seems  as  though  these  godless 
people  were  going  to  stick  by  their  word."  "  So  it 
does,"  I  said ;  "  and  I  Ve  often  thought  that  you  're 
apt  to  hang  the  basket  a  bit  too  high ;  but  it 's  too 
late  now  to  make  an  outcry."  "  I  don't  know  about 
that,"  said  Justina — she's  got  a  wonderfully  inventive 
mind,  you  know — "  I  fancy  something  might  be  done 
yet.  I  Ve  got  an  idea,  Nikodem.  They  can't  have 
got  him  to  the  village  yet,  and  no  doubt  they  would 
be  glad  of  a  chance  of  making  up  matters,  but  they 
just  don't  know  how  to  begin.  We've  got  some 
potatoes  in  that  direction — it 's  a  fine  day — suppos- 
ing you  were  to  go  over  and  have  a  look  at  those 
potatoes.  You  '11  take  the  little  cart,  of  course,  as 
two  miles  is  a  good  bit  to  walk,  and  if  you  put  your 
vestment  at  the  bottom,  who  is  to  be  the  wiser  ?  It 
may  very  well  chance  that  you  meet  the  corpse  on 
the  way,  and  if  you  don't  manage  to  put  matters 
right  then,  why,  you're  not  worthy  the  name  of 
Pope." 

'  Well,  the  plan  struck  me  as  grand,  and  off  I  went 
in  the  cart,  my  vestments  well  buried  in  the  straw. 
And  up  to  a  certain  point  it  all  happened  exactly  as 
Justina  had  foreseen.  Just  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before 
the  hut  I  met  the  funeral  procession,  and  scarcely 
had  they  caught  sight  of  me  than  I  saw  them  con- 
sulting, and  finally  standing  still.  "  Good-afternoon 
to  you,  Pope,"  they  say,  in  quite  a  friendly  way. 
"  You  seem  in  a  hurry  ?  "  "  In  no  special  hurry,"  I 
reply,  chuckling  with  satisfaction  as  I  think  of  that 
chasuble  in  the  straw,  and  blessing  Justina's  fore- 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  15 

sight.  "  I  'm  just  having  a  look  at  my  potatoes  over 
there  ;  they  tell  me  they  're  late  in  coming  up." 

' "  They  are  a  bit  late,"  says  Jurko  Skribnek  ;  "  but 
if  you  're  in  no  hurry  you  '11  take  a  mouthful  of  wodki 
before  going  farther,  won't  you  ?  " 

'"If  it  please  you,"  I  say,  seeming  to  feel  those 
twenty  florins  in  my  pocket  already. 

'  I  drank  one  glass,  I  drank  two  glasses,  I  'm  not 
sure  that  I  didn't  drink  a  third  and  a  fourth ;  we 
talked  of  the  potatoes,  of  the  maize,  of  the  apples, 
but  never  a  word  of  the  funeral  so  far.  I  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  just  a  little  queer,  but  I  kept  saying  to 
myself,  It  must  be  coming,  why  else  should  they 
have  stopped  me  ?  It  was  not  until  the  bottle  had 
gone  round  several  times  that  Jurko  seemed  to 
remember  what  they  were  there  for. 

1 "  Well,  Pope,"  he  says,  hammering  the  cork  down 
with  his  fist,  "I  fancy  that  we've  all  had  about 
enough.  If  you  take  much  more  you  won't  be  able 
to  reach  your  potatoes,  and  even  if  you  do  get  there 
you  '11  see  two  growing  for  every  one  there  is ;  and 
if  we  take  much  more  we  '11  as  likely  as  not  tumble 
into  the  grave  when  we  get  there.  And  your  time 
for  getting  there  and  back  is  short,  too,  for  remember, 
you  've  promised  to  seal  up  the  grave  for  us." 

'  That  was  all ;  in  another  minute  I  was  alone  on 
the  road ;  and  all  I  regret  is  that  I  had  not  got  a 
pocket  mirror  with  me,  for  my  face  must  have  been 
a  sight  to  see.  It's  a  bitter  thing  to  lose  twenty 
florins  through  trying  to  get  fifty,  but  the  devil  take 
me  if  I  can  help  laughing  at  the  trick  they  played 


1 6          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

me !  Justina  there  can't  see  the  joke  at  all ;  and  it 's 
true  that  the  new  carpet  she  had  meant  to  buy  is 
gone  with  those  fifty  florins ;  you  can't  buy  a  carpet 
for  two  florins,  I  suppose,  and  that 's  what  the  sealing- 
up  brought  me  :  fifty  kreutzers  for  the  incense,  and 
fifty  kreutzers  for  the  chanting,  and  so  on  according 
to  the  tax.  There  are  the  fruits  of  my  afternoon  ! ' 
And  throwing  the  loose  coins  on  to  the  table,  the 
Pope  leant  back  again,  gently  shaking  with  laughter. 
The  two  younger  girls,  infected  by  their  father's 
mirth,  shrieked  a  delighted  chorus,  while  Zenobia's 
dark,  serious  face  betrayed  by  its  pre-occupation  that 
her  thoughts  had  been  elsewhere. 

Gregor,  too,  had  lent  but  half  an  ear,  but  in  that 
which  he  had  heard,  and  in  spite  of  his  mind  being 
of  quite  a  different  fibre  from  that  of  Father  Niko- 
dem's,  there  was  nothing  which  directly  offended 
him.  The  chronic  bargaining  between  Pope  and 
parishioners  was  a  thing  far  too  familiar  to  disturb 
him  seriously ;  it  was  one  of  the  conditions  of  life, 
just  as  rain  and  sunshine  are  conditions,  and  although 
of  a  distinctly  religious  turn  of  mind,  to  imagine  a 
state  of  things  in  which  this  element  was  absent  had 
not  yet  come  to  him.  Popes  have  to  live  as  well  as 
other  people,  and  to  bring  up  their  families,  which, 
by  a  special  dispensation  of  Providence,  are  usually 
more  numerous  than  those  of  other  people,  and,  the 
government  provisions  being  a  mockery,  it  naturally 
follows  that  each  wedding  and  funeral  becomes,  in 
the  first  place,  a  business  transaction.  Gregor  also 
knew  that  this  particular  Pope  was  not  nearly  so 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  17 

black  as  the  story  just  told  appeared  to  paint  him, 
and  that,  while  making  as  good  bargains  of  his  duties 
as  circumstances  permitted,  he  yet  fulfilled  them 
conscientiously.  Despite  his  business-like  shrewd- 
ness, his  heart  was  anything  but  hard  nor  his  hand 
close ;  many  a  kindly  act  could  the  village  tell  of 
him.  But  as  for  letting  down  his  charges  for  his 
priestly  functions,  even  one  florin  below  what  he  felt 
to  be  his  due,  such  a  thing  never  occurred  to  him. 
Of  these  contests,  custom  had  made  a  species  of 
legalised  sport,  a  constant  trial  of  strength  between 
him  and  his  parishioners,  which  he  could  not  think 
of  missing,  and  which  gave  a  certain  zest  to  an 
otherwise  monotonous  existence.  True,  it  was  the 
Popadia  who  usually  began  the  transaction,  not  only 
because  she  had  an  almost  superior  talent  in  this 
direction,  but  also  because  some  fragment  of  tradi- 
tional etiquette  demanded  that  a  third  person  should 
intervene  between  the  priest  and  the  parishioner ;  but 
it  was  rare  that  any  word  of  interest  should  escape 
him,  and  not  infrequently,  at  the  hottest  moment  of 
the  debate,  the  door  beside  which  he  had  been  lend- 
ing an  attentive  ear  would  burst  open,  and  his  last 
clinching  word  to  the  bargain  be  successfully  put  in. 

Gregor  knew  all  this,  and  yet  smiled  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  narrative,  as  though  he  had  heard 
something  merely  amusing.  His  thoughts  were 
anxiously  bent  in  another  direction. 

'  Can  I   speak  to  you  alone  ? '  he  asked  in  a  low 
voice,  as  the  company  rose  from  table,  and  while  the 
Popadia  was  carefully  collecting  the  remains  of  the 
B 


1 8          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

kolesha,  presumably  for  the  hens'  breakfast  next 
morning. 

Father  Nikodem,  growing  suddenly  grave,  looked 
at  him  keenly,  and  something  like  understanding 
flashed  up  in  his  black  eyes. 

'  Come  in  here/  he  said  shortly,  opening  a  door 
close  beside  which  they  stood. 


CHAPTER   III 

THIS  room  was  smaller  and  almost  quite  dark 
when  they  entered  it.  During  the  minute  which 
passed  while  the  Pope,  still  in  silence,  groped  for  the 
matches,  Gregor  had  time  to  decide  what  his  first 
words  should  be.  These  words  were  ready  even  before 
two  candles,  on  a  large  table  much  spotted  with  ink, 
had  been  kindled,  but  even  after  the  Pope  had  said 
in  a  distinctly  encouraging  tone  of  voice  :  '  Sit  down, 
my  son,'  they  refused  to  cross  his  lips. 

'  Is  it  I  who  am  to  begin,  or  you  ? '  asked  his  host 
at  last,  occupied  in  kindling  some  vile -smelling 
tobacco  in  the  bowl  of  his  cherry  wood  pipe. 

'  I  fear  you  may  think  me  preposterous ' 

'  If  I  ask  leave  to  pay  my  addresses  to  your 
daughter,'  finished  the  Pope,  forcing  his  deep  baritone 
voice  into  an  imitation  of  Gregor's  higher  tones. 
c  Don't  open  your  eyes  wider  than  they  are  by  nature. 
Have  I  hit  it  off  or  not?  It's  Zenia  you're  after, 
aren't  you  ?  I  'm  always  for  taking  the  shortest  road 
everywhere.' 

'ItcertainlyisPannaZenobiawhomlhadhoped ' 

'To  call  my  own  some  day;  that's  it,  isn't  it? 
And  you  ask  me  whether  I  think  you  presumptuous  ? 

19 


20 

I  should  rather  think  I  do — as  confoundedly  pre- 
sumptuous as  people  only  succeed  in  being  at  your 
age.  How  could  you  for  a  moment  suppose 
that  I  could  give  my  daughter  to  a  village  school- 
master?' 

Gregor  listened  aghast,  but  also  puzzled,  for  there 
was  that  in  the  Pope's  merry  black  eyes  which  seemed 
to  belie  the  harshness  of  the  words. 

'And  you're  not  only  presumptuous,  you're  also 
improvident.  What  do  you  propose  to  live  on  ? 
Your  twenty-five  florins  a  month?  Perhaps  you 
expect  me  to  give  a  portion  with  my  daughter  ?  It 
will  have  to  be  a  confoundedly  small  one,  so  long 
as  we  are  all  alive.' 

'  I  had  not  thought  of  the  portion,'  said  Gregor, 
reddening. 

'  Shows  you  're  more  of  a  fool  than  I  took  you 
for.  You  expected  to  live  on  baked  air,  I  sup- 
pose ;  it 's  a  fare  that  some  lovers  manage  on  for  a 
time.  Tell  me,  Gregor  Petrow,  are  you  fond  of  the 
girl?' 

'  I — yes ;  I  would  not  think  of  marrying  her  if  I 
did  not  esteem  her  highly.' 

'  Esteem  ?  Hem — and  yet  no  thought  of  a  portion, 
really  it's  beyond  me  how  you  came  to  think  of 
marrying  her  at  all.' 

'Then  I  must  consider  myself  rejected?'  said 
Gregor,  after  a  moment's  silence,  and  making  an 
ineffectual  effort  to  rise. 

'  Sit  still ! '  growled  the  Pope  through  the  clouds 
of  tobacco  smoke  which  enveloped  him.  '  Where 's 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          21 

the  hurry  ?  I  'm  not  inclined  to  move  so  soon  after 
supper,  and  politeness  would  demand  of  me  to  show 
you  to  the  door.  It's  a  very  bad  habit  to  jump 
to  conclusions.  Who  told  you  you  were  rejected  ? 
What  I  said  was  that  I  could  not  give  my  daughter 
to  a  village  schoolmaster.' 

'  Well,  but  since  I  am ' 

'  You  are,  you  are ;  but  must  one  always  be  what 
one  is  ?  You  weren't  born  as  a  schoolmaster,  were 
you  ?  and  need  you  die  as  one  ? ' 

Gregor  stared  uncomprehendingly  ;  his  wide-open 
eyes  and  upright  hair  giving  to  his  puzzled  counten- 
ance so  unique  an  expression  of  astonishment  that 
the  Pope,  tickled  by  the  spectacle,  felt  half  inclined 
to  prolong  the  torture. 

'  No  doubt  your  profession  is  a  most  honourable 
one,  but  no  one  can  assert  of  it  that  it  feeds  its  men 
fat ;  your  own  countenance  is  enough  to  knock  that 
idea  down  flat.  At  twenty-one  no  man  has  a  right 
to  have  such  shadows  under  his  cheek-bones,  and 
do  you  think  I  want  to  see  such  dark  blotches 
under  Zenia's  eyes  ?  But  there,  I  dare  say  you  've  had 
enough  of  it  by  now ;  let 's  talk  seriously,  my  son. 
You  have  not  surprised  me,  Gregor  Petrow,  I  Ve  seen 
this  coming ;  and  that  which  I  am  going  to  say  to 
you  now,  I  have  had  it  ready  to  say  to  you  for  weeks 
past.  From  the  moment  I  began  to  perceive  that 
you  and  Zenia  seemed  to  be  drawing  together,  I  set 
to  ask  myself  how  it  could  be  possible  to  arrange  the 
thing — for  I  like  you,  my  son — I  may  as  well  tell 
you  so  at  once,  and  I  wish  all  my  girls  had  a  chance 


22          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

of  as  good  husbands  as  Zenia  seems  to  have.  To  let 
her  marry  a  schoolmaster  is  out  of  the  question,  but 
if  you  could  make  yourself  into  some  one  else  there 
is  no  saying  what  might  happen.' 

'  Make  myself  into  some  one  else?' 

'Yes  ;  it's  much  simpler  than  it  sounds,  especially 
if  one  happens  to  have  a  leaning  for  books,  such 
as  you  have.  Now,  listen  to  my  plan.  Instead 
of  paying  your  addresses  to  Zenia,  you  say  good- 
bye to  her  for  a  time,  and  pack  yourself  straight 
off  to  the  seminary  at  Lemberg.  The  studies  will 
take  you  four  years,  but  at  your  age  one  can 
manage  to  give  up  four  years,  and  at  the  end 
of  that  time  you  have  only  to  come  back  and 
fetch  Zenia,  and  you  will  be  all  ready  to  take 
orders.  She  too  can  afford  those  four  years,  since 
she  is  only  nineteen.' 

'  A  priest  ?  /,  a  priest  ? '  said  Gregor,  half  starting 
from  his  chair,  and  with  eyes  which  had  grown 
suddenly  wild  with  astonishment. 

'  Yes ;  why  do  you  stare  as  though  I  were  pro- 
posing to  you  to  become  a  highwayman  ?  Can  you 
give  me  a  valid  reason  why  you  shouldn't  be  a  priest 
just  as  well  as  dozens  of  other  youngsters  who 
haven't  got  half  your  steadiness  and  industry? 
Positively  it  seems  to  me  your  only  chance  of  ever 
getting  out  of  the  school-house  and  of  having  at  least 
enough  kolesha  to  eat.  I  don't  say  it's  a  brilliant 
prospect — the  beginning  especially  is  hard — I  've 
been  through  it  all  myself,  but  unless  you  're  as 
blessed  with  children  as  I  was,  and  if  you  learn  to 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          23 

work  the  fees  properly — and  I  can  give  you  a  few 
hints  in  that  direction — there  will  always  at  least  be 
kolesha.  You  would  have  a  good  figure  for  a  vest- 
ment, if  you  could  learn  to  hold  yourself  straighter 
— and  the  people  like  a  priest  who  can  be  seen 
above  the  heads  of  the  front  rows — and  you've 
got  a  good  tenor  voice  which  they'll  train  at  the 
seminary,  and  which  will  make  a  grand  effect  at 
High  Mass.' 

Gregor  had  sunk  back  into  his  chair,  listening 
breathlessly,  and  still  astonished  to  the  point  of  con- 
sternation. 

'  But  I  cannot — I  have  never  thought  of  it  before,' 
he  stammered,  pale  with  excitement. 

'  Haven't  I  told  you  that  there  is  plenty  of  time  to 
think  of  it  now  ? '  said  the  Pope,  a  trifle  impatiently. 
'  I  know  several  parish  priests  who  at  your  age  had 
not  thought  of  it  either.  Out  with  it  now.  What 's 
your  opinion  of  my  plan  ? ' 

'  It 's  impossible ;  I  have  not  the  means  for  the 
studies.' 

'  But  I  have ;  and  if  I  choose  to  go  to  the  expense 
of  procuring  for  my  daughter  the  sort  of  husband  I 
approve  of — a  son-in-law  who  will  not  be  likely  to 
send  her  back  to  me  because  he  cannot  feed  her — 
then  I  should  like  to  know  what  objection  you  can 
possibly  make  ?  You  '11  pay  me  back  in  time,  no 
doubt,  and  in  the  meantime  the  money  I  advance 
will  stand  in  place  of  the  portion  which  it  would  be 
far  more  inconvenient  for  me  to  give.' 

'  But  could  I  accept  ? '  said  Gregor  doubtfully. 


24          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  If  you  could  not,  then  we  have  been  wasting 
our  time,  and  I  can  only  go  back  to  what  I 
said  at  the  beginning  of  our  talk  :  I  cannot 
give  my  daughter  to  a  village  schoolmaster.  And 
now,  Gregor  Petrow,  if  we  end  here  it  won't  be 
my  fault.' 

Under  the  Pope's  shrewd  gaze  the  young  man 
had  sunk  his  face  into  his  hands,  and  sat  thus  for  a 
minute,  beaten  upon  by  a  flood  of  emotions  which 
made  clear  thought  impossible. 

'There  is  nothing  so  alarming  about  the  idea  as 
seems  to  you  just  at  first,'  the  Pope's  voice  was  heard 
saying  rather  more  gently.  '  And  as  for  the  money, 
why,  it 's  just  my  way  of  making  an  investment,  don't 
you  see  ?  When  one  has  got  daughters  to  marry  one 
can't  expect  to  do  so  without  putting  one's  hand  in 
one's  pocket.  If  one  of  my  sons  had  grown  up  he 
would  certainly  have  been  a  priest — it's  the  safest 
thing  on  the  whole,  as  I  've  always  maintained — 
you  're  to  take  the  place  of  that  son,  don't  you  see  ? 
The  chance  isn't  a  bad  one  for  you,  and  I  advise  you 
to  think  over  it  before  saying  No.' 

'  I  will  think  over  it,'  said  Gregor,  uncovering  his 
face.  '  It  has  been  too  sudden  ;  I  will  come  back 
when  I  have  thought.' 

'That's  right!  Come  back  to-morrow,  or  take  a 
week,  if  you  like.  There's  plenty  of  time  before 
the  beginning  of  the  term.  But  mind — not  a  word 
to  Zenia  meanwhile  !  It 's  the  one  condition  I  make.' 

'  I  will  say  nothing,'  said  Gregor,  as  he  rose  in  a 
great  hurry.  '  I  do  not  want  to  see  anybody  to- 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  25 

night.     Will  you  let  me  out  at  this  side,  please  ?     I 
should  like  to  go  home  at  once.' 

'  Without  saying  good-night  to  the  ladies  ?  Well, 
have  your  way,  and  may  you  be  well  inspired  in 
your  reflections ! ' 


CHAPTER    IV 

OUTSIDE  it  was  already  so  dark  that  Gregor,  in 
his  hurry,  half  stumbled  down  the  wooden  steps 
of  the  porch.  Once  free  of  the  lilac  bushes  and  out 
upon  the  common  it  was  astonishing  to  discover  that 
the  night  was  star-lit  and  transparent.  Gregor  began 
by  walking  very  fast  along  the  ghostly-looking  ribbons 
of  grey  dust,  but  he  had  not  got  to  the  middle  of  the 
wide  space  before  the  stillness  of  the  night  seemed  to 
lay  hands  upon  him.  Why  was  he  hurrying  on  ? 
He  knew  quite  well  that  he  would  not  be  able  to 
sleep  when  he  got  home,  and  if  all  he  wanted  to  do 
was  to  think,  surely  this  spot  was  more  congenial  to 
thought  than  the  four  mud  walls  of  his  tiny  chamber  ? 
All  around  him  the  village  was  asleep  already ;  the 
Pope's  house  and  the  Jewish  tavern  alone  still  showed 
lights  behind  their  windows,  and  the  only  sound  to 
be  heard  just  now  was  the  uneasy  lowing  of  a  cow 
whose  calf  had  been  driven  to  market  that  day.  As 
Gregor's  face  relaxed,  his  eyes  turned  instinctively 
to  the  line  of  mountains  on  the  horizon,  dimly  visible 
even  now,  for  he  loved  to  look  on  them  and  to 
imagine  himself  in  their  richly  wooded  depths.  On 
the  other  side  there  was  the  plain,  easily  to  be  over- 


27 

looked  for  miles  from  the  raised  ground  on  which 
the  village  stood,  and  nearer  at  hand  the  stems  of 
the  birch  trees  shone  through  the  shadows  like  white 
marble  columns.  Here  and  there  a  dark,  inexplic- 
able sort  of  phantom  limped  across  the  scene — the 
hobbled  horses  which  had  been  left  out  for  the  night 
and  were  still  apparently  more  hungry  than  sleepy. 
Passing  close  beside  one  of  them  Gregor  could  hear 
its  deep  breath.  When  he  came  to  a  chance  log 
which  lay  on  the  grass  it  seemed  to  him  quite  natural 
to  sit  down,  with  his  face  towards  the  mountains. 
That  feeling  of  astonishment,  almost  consternation, 
which  had  been  the  first  effect  of  the  Pope's  proposi- 
tion was  still  upon  him. 

'A  priest!  /  a  priest !"  he  said  aloud.  The  words 
had  been  ringing  in  his  ears  all  the  time  as  he  walked, 
and  to  speak  them  aloud  was  almost  a  necessity. 

Considering  his  natural  piety  it  was  perhaps  strange 
that  such  an  idea  should  never  have  presented  itself 
to  his  mind,  not  even  in  the  shape  of  a  hopeless  wish  ; 
but  ambition  did  not  lie  in  his  nature,  and  the  thought 
appeared  to  him,  at  first  sight,  purely  ambitious. 
Except  for  an  uncle  whom  the  opinion  of  the  world 
(that  is,  of  his  neighbours)  had  driven  into  paying  for 
his  schooling — such  as  it  had  been — and  who  bore 
him  a  grudge  in  consequence,  Gregor  had  always 
stood  quite  alone.  Scarcely  could  he  be  said  to  have 
comrades,  for  his  sickly  health  as  a  child  had  shut  him 
out  of  all  rough  sports.  The  uncle  was  a  bachelor, 
but  this  circumstance  could  not  diminish  the  grudge 
towards  Gregor ;  in  fact  it  rather  aggravated  it,  for 


28          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

when  a  man  out  of  sheer  reasonableness  renounces 
the  comforts  and  pleasures  of  family  life,  it  is  all  the 
harder  upon  him  to  have  to  pay  the  cost  of  his 
brother's  improvidence.  At  the  earliest  possible 
moment  Gregor  was  therefore  told  to  look  out  for  his 
own  living.  If  at  that  time  he  felt  an  inclination  of 
any  sort  it  was  towards  the  career  of  a  doctor,  but 
since  studies  were  quite  out  of  the  question,  and  a 
post  of  schoolmaster  being  available,  it  became  in- 
evitable to  accept  it.  Within  a  few  months  he  had 
got  fond  of  his  work.  By  dint  of  impressing  upon 
him  the  fact  that  he  was  an  absolutely  superfluous 
personage,  his  uncle  had  succeeded  in  training  his 
natural  diffidence  to  excess,  and  the  sensation  of 
being  looked  up  to — even  if  only  by  village  gamins, 
and  after  having  been  so  persistently  looked  down 
upon — was  so  new  as  to  be  almost  entrancing.  At 
first  nothing  could  exceed  his  astonishment  at  seeing 
his  own  tremulous  orders  obeyed,  his  recommenda- 
tions followed,  his  approval  coveted.  A  feeling  of 
gratitude  towards  these  little  beings  who  thus  helped 
him  to  find  his  footing,  not  only  in  life,  but  also  in  his 
own  mind,  so  to  say,  was  the  first  phase  through 
which  the  new  schoolmaster  passed.  Pity  came 
next — an  acute  and  aching  pity  for  these  children, 
who  yet  were  no  poorer  than  himself,  and  certainly 
far  better  framed  for  resisting  the  miseries  of  poverty. 
Out  of  all  this  there  grew  a  real  affection  for  his 
pupils,  which  for  the  first  time  made  life  appear 
interesting,  instead  of  only  endurable. 

For  very  long,   however,  this  interest  could  not 


29 

suffice.  His  days  were  full  enough,  but  the  evenings 
were  long,  and  the  holiday  times  painfully  empty. 
A  family  life  had  always  appeared  to  him  as  the 
ideal  of  existence — probably  because  he  had  never 
known  it — and  when  he  sat  alone  in  his  bare  chamber 
he  would  listen  enviously  to  the  clamour  which  the 
peasant  children  made  alongside,  and  wonder  in  how 
many  years  he  would  be  able  to  think  of  marriage. 
As  yet  he  had  scarcely  spoken  to  a  woman,  and  in 
the  village  of  Hlobaki,  the  only  women,  not  peasants, 
were  to  be  found  in  the  family  of  the  Pope.  It  was 
inevitable  that  a  certain  intimacy  should  arise.  For 
a  year  past  Gregor  had  spent  all  his  Sundays  at 
Father  Nikodem's  house,  and  for  half  a  year  past 
had  become  aware  of  being  attracted  by  Zenobia 
Mostewicz.  Whether  he  was  in  love  with  her  or 
not  he  could  not  have  himself  said ;  she  did  not 
dazzle  him,  but  she  pleased  him  ;  to  be  with  her  did 
not  excite,  but  soothed  him.  Their  frequent  talks 
had  been  extraordinarily  serious  for  two  people  of 
their  ages,  and  if  he  had  felt  drawn  towards  her  it 
had  no  doubt  been  in  part  because  of  the  contrast 
which  her  reflective  mood  presented  to  the  common- 
place superficiality  of  the  rest  of  the  family.  Beside 
the  father's  boisterousness,  the  mother's  acidity,  and 
the  younger  girl's  tomboyishness,  Zenobia's  chronic 
calmness  of  demeanour,  even  her  apparent  apathy, 
exercised  a  charm  of  its  own. 

But  to  think  of  aspiring  to  her  hand  did  not  occur 
to  him  for  long,  and  occurred  only  at  first  to  be 
rejected  as  a  piece  of  presumptuous  folly.  Many 


3o          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

months  of  further  intercourse,  and  many  more 
solitary  evenings  were  required  before  he  found  in 
himself  the  courage  to  put  his  case  before  the  Pope. 
He  had  expected  either  Yes  or  No  ;  and  now, 
instead  of  getting  either,  there  was  a  new  problem 
to  face. 

'/  a  priest!'  This  one  idea  absorbed  his  mind, 
pushing  the  thought  of  his  marriage  entirely  into  the 
background.  Why,  after  all,  did  the  idea  terrify  him 
so  ?  The  various  priests  he  had  known  had  not, 
either  by  the  exaltation  of  their  ideas  or  their  mode 
of  life,  impressed  him  as  presenting  something  un- 
attainable in  the  matter  of  Christian  perfection. 
What  they  did,  would  he  not  be  able  to  do  it  too  ? 
Whence,  then,  this  feeling  of  unworthiness  which 
seemed  to  bow  him  to  the  ground  ?  Even  the  story 
he  had  heard  that  afternoon  was  not  calculated  to 
exalt  the  thought  of  priesthood  in  his  mind,  and  yet 
Father  Nikodem  undoubtedly  was  counted  among 
the  more  conscientious  of  his  class. 

What  they  did, — yes,  but  would  he  be  content  to 
do  as  they  did  ?  It  was  there  that  the  difficulty  lay. 
Strange  that  there  should  be  such  a  difference  be- 
tween his  manner  of  viewing  priesthood  as  exercised 
by  others,  and  of  this  same  priesthood  when  contem- 
plating the  possibility  of  taking  its  duties  upon 
himself.  He  had  even  thought  himself  quite  resigned 
to  the  low  standard  prevailing,  until  called  upon  to 
make  that  standard  his  own.  Together  with  the 
mass  of  his  co-religionists,  he  had  grown  up  used  to 
see  the  priests  of  his  church  live  the  commonolace 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  31 

lives  of  other  people,  to  be  priests  only  within  the 
walls  of  their  church,  to  lay  aside  their  sacred 
character  with  their  vestments,  becoming  again 
everyday-men,  with  the  interests,  the  pleasures,  the 
petty  anxieties,  and  even  the  vices  of  everyday-men. 
Scarcely  had  such  sights  offended  a  soul  whom 
tradition  had  taught  sharply  to  distinguish  between 
Religion  and  its  official  representative — the  blessings 
of  the  church  and  the  hand  that  chances  to  dispense 
them  ;  and  never  for  a  moment  had  his  childlike 
faith  suffered  from  the  sight  of  the  personal  unworthi- 
ness  of  an  individual.  '  My  words,  not  my  deeds  ! ' 
is  the  principle  of  the  great  mass  of  Ruthenian  priests 
when  exhorting  their  flocks,  and  hitherto  Gregor  had 
accepted  it.  How  was  it  then  that  he  now  discovered 
in  his  heart  a  quite  different  ideal  of  priesthood  ? 
Whence  could  it  have  come,  since  he  was  certain 
of  never  having  met  its  representative  in  the  flesh  ? 
That,  indeed,  would  be  as  hard  to  say  as  it  would  be 
to  explain  how  an  isolated  flower  comes  to  grow  in 
a  country  where  none  of  its  species  exist ;  how  trace 
the  breeze  which  has  carried  hither  the  one  frail 
seed  ?  Gregor  could  not  know  how  the  thing  had 
come,  but  only  that  it  was  there,  and  being  there  it 
would  not  let  him  lightly  accept  the  chance  offered 
him,  merely  because  it  was  '  the  safest  thing,  on  the 
whole,'  nor  allow  him  to  recognise  the  possession  of  a 
figure  that  would  do  well  in  a  vestment,  and  a  tenor 
voice  which  might  be  useful  at  High  Mass,  as  valid 
grounds  for  taking  orders. 

All  this  time,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  doubts,  there 


32          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

was  slowly  growing  up  in  him  a  hot,  hungry  desire 
for  the  thing  which  he  yet  did  not  dare  to  grasp  at. 
When  he  looked  round  him  again  the  stars  seemed 
to  him  to  be  shining  brighter,  and  the  common  to 
have  grown  as  large  as  the  plain.  The  lights,  both  in 
the  priest's  and  in  the  Jew's  house,  had  disappeared  ; 
and  only  the  voice  of  the  bereaved  cow  broke  the 
silence  of  the  sleeping  village. 

Was  it  not  possible  that  the  Pope  had  been  inspired 
by  Heaven  to  make  him  this  offer  ?  It  sounded  too 
marvellous  to  come  from  a  mere  earthly  source.  But 
was  it  quite  certain  that  he  actually  meant  it  ?  Father 
Nikodem  was  fond  of  jokes — was  he  not  only  amus- 
ing himself  at  the  nai've  young  man's  expense  ?  An 
ugly  shadow  crossed  Gregor's  fair  face.  The  in- 
stinctive spirit  of  distrust,  which  is  the  bane  of  the 
Ruthenian  peasant,  was  at  work  within  him,  for  it 
was  not  yet  two  generations  since  his  ancestors  had 
walked  behind  the  plough,  and  peasant  instincts  are 
as  hard  to  kill  as  the  thistles  in  their  own  fields. 
Centuries  of  oppression,  of  being  overreached  and 
played  upon  at  every  turn,  have  made  of  the  Ruthenian 
peasant  the  most  mistrustful  of  human  beings,  not 
only  towards  his  oppressor  the  Pole,  but  even  towards 
his  own  kind.  In  Gregor  this  national  vice — for  it 
deserves  this  qualification  —  was  counteracted  by 
other  qualities,  in  especial  by  his  own  innate  candour, 
which  now  came  to  his  aid,  dispersing  the  suggestion 
of  false  play,  clearing  the  cloud  from  his  forehead, 
and  leaving  the  flood  of  exultation,  that  was  gaining 
on  him,  free  to  rise. 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  33 

'  I  a  priest ! '  But  he  said  it  already  in  an  accent 
of  hope.  He  was  beginning  to  discover  within  him- 
self all  sorts  of  reasons  why  this  thing  should  be 
possible.  His  first  conscious  desire  had  been  to  be 
a  doctor ;  and  now,  if  he  would,  he  might  be  a  doctor 
of  souls,  and  dispense  heavenly  medicine !  Now, 
also,  he  began  to  understand  why  his  school  work 
had  taken  such  immediate  possession  of  him ;  there 
also  his  mission  had  been  to  guide,  to  support,  to 
plant  good  seed  in  ready  ground — and  this  mission, 
how  much  greater? 

His  eyes  sought  the  star-spangled  sky  exultingly, 
but  immediately  dropped,  once  more  his  head  sank 
upon  his  breast.  The  feeling  of  his  unworthiness 
was  upon  him  again,  heavier  than  ever. 

'  A  priest  of  the  God  who  built  those  mountains  ! '  he 
groaned  aloud.  'A  priest  of  the  God  who  lit  those 
stars  !  Oh,  never !  It  can  never  be ! '  And  a  desire 
to  make  himself  smaller  still,  to  prostrate  himself  on 
the  earth  and  press  his  face  into  the  grass,  came  over 
him  almost  irresistibly.  It  was  as  though  the  whole 
firmament  and  all  its  wonders  were  weighing  him 
down  to  the  ground. 

He  had  sat  for  long  when  something  soft  pushed 
his  shoulder,  and  he  heard  a  breath  drawn  in  his 
very  ear.  Then  he  turned  with  a  start,  to  become 
aware  of  one  of  the  hobbled  horses  curiously  sniffing 
him.  He  discovered  now  that  he  was  shivering,  and 
that  out  in  the  plain  the  mists  were  beginning  to  rise. 
He  had  come  to  no  conclusion,  and  yet  it  was  clear 
that  he  had  sat  here  long  enough,  for  the  nights  were 
C 


34  THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

still  cool  at  this  season.  Tired  out  with  the  use- 
less debate,  he  rose  and  resumed  his  way.  He  had 
reached  the  other  side  of  the  common,  and  was 
about  to  plunge  into  the  dark  lane,  when  a  sound, 
which  was  something  between  a  groan  and  a  snore, 
startled  him  by  its  vicinity.  Bending  down  he  saw 
a  dark  mass  on  the  ground,  lying  in  the  shadow  of 
the  paling,  and  at  the  same  time  became  aware  of  an 
unpleasantly  strong  smell  of  wodki.  When  his  eyes 
had  got  accustomed  to  the  light  he  saw  that  a  woman 
was  sleeping  there,  evidently  dead-drunk.  Another 
moment  and  he  had  recognised  her, — it  was  Marka 
Ritzko,  a  well-known  incorrigible  drunkard,  who 
carried  all  her  earnings  to  the  Jewish  tavern.  The 
natural  thing  seemed  to  be  to  awaken  her,  but  all 
the  vigour  at  Gregor's  command  succeeded  only  in 
shaking  a  few  inarticulate  sounds  out  of  her.  He 
was  about  to  turn  away  in  disgust,  when  a  small, 
bare  foot,  sticking  almost  straight  into  the  air, 
attracted  his  attention.  That  foot  could  not  belong 
to  Marka ;  it  proved  to  belong  to  her  two-year-old 
son,  who  was  sleeping  beside  her,  in  imminent  danger 
of  being  suffocated  by  his  insensible  mother.  Gregor 
knelt  down  quickly,  and  deftly  extricating  the  child 
from  its  mother's  drunken  embrace,  lifted  it  in  his 
arms.  The  boy's  head  was  thrown  back,  and  from 
his  half-open  mouth  the  same  overpowering  smell  of 
wodki,  which  had  made  Gregor  almost  sick  in  the 
moment  of  bending  down,  met  him  again.  With  a 
mixture  of  horror  and  pity  he  recognised  that  the 
child  was  as  drunk  as  the  mother.  Gathering  it 


35 

carefully  in  his  arms  he  entered  the  lane,  and,  as  he 
felt  his  way  along  in  the  dark,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
out  of  the  night  some  words  were  being  spoken  in 
his  ear — 

'  It  is  not  my  Father's  will  that  one  of  these  little 
ones  should  be  lost.' 

Through  the  shadows  he  peered  at  the  face  of  the 
poor  little  outcast  which  lay  upturned  upon  his  arm, 
and  a  new  flood  of  warmth  rose  deliciously  in  his 
heart.  The  shepherd  who  had  left  his  ninety-nine 
sheep  to  find  the  one  that  was  lost,  must  he  not  have 
known  this  same  joy  as  he  carried  it  back  over  the 
hills? 

Arrived  at  home,  and  having  managed  with  one 
hand  to  kindle  a  light,  he  laid  the  insensible  child  in 
his  own  bed,  then  stretching  himself  on  the  bench, 
exhausted  both  physically  and  mentally,  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep.  When  he  awoke  in  broad  daylight  he 
could  not  at  once  explain  this  new  feeling  of  con- 
tentment and  joy  which  pervaded  him.  It  was  only 
when  his  eyes  fell  on  the  child,  sitting  up  in  the  bed 
and  playing  with  his  Sunday  cravat,  that  the  details 
of  yesterday  came  back  to  him. 

'Worthy  I  am  not,'  he  mused  ;  '  but  who  is  worthy? 
Was  Peter  worthy  when  he  was  told  to  leave  his 
fishing-nets  and  to  come?  Did  he  not  afterwards 
prove  himself  to  be  a  coward  ?  And  yet  God,  who 
knew  the  bottom  of  this  weakness,  made  him  into 
the  first  of  His  apostles.  Does  He  not  take  His 
instruments  where  He  chooses?' 

The  school  hours  seemed  very  long  that  day,  and 


36 

scarcely  were  they  over  when  Gregor,  just  as  he  was, 
and  without  making  the  careful  toilet  of  yesterday, 
almost  ran  across  the  common,  and  straight  into  the 
room  where  he  knew  that  he  would  be  most  likely  to 
find  the  Pope  alone. 

Father  Nikodem's  round  eyes  grew  rounder  still 
at  his  visitor's  unannounced  and  somewhat  impetu- 
ous entrance. 

'  Anything  wrong  at  the  school,  Gregor  Petrow  ? ' 
he  began,  and  then,  after  a  good  look  at  his  face — 

'  Oh,  I  see  ;  so  you  haven't  taken  a  week  about  it 
after  all  ? ' 

1  No,  Father  Nikodem.  I  have  come  to  tell  you 
that  I  accept  your  offer,  and  am  more  grateful  for 
your  generosity  than  I  can  say  ! ' 

'  Indeed ! .  Why,  this  is  quite  a  different  tune 
from  yesterday.  What  has  brought  you  round  so 
quickly? ' 

'  It  has  just  come  to  me.' 

'  That 's  right,  my  son  !  You  've  got  more  sense 
in  you  than  I  dared  to  hope  for.  Make  your  pre- 
parations so  as  to  be  ready  for  the  term ;  mind  you 
pass  your  examinations,  and  then  come  back  and 
be  welcome  to  take  your  choice  among  my  daughters 
— there  will  be  three  of  them  to  choose  from  by 
that  time,  you  know,'  and  the  Pope  laughed  rather 
knowingly. 

'  I  shall  do  everything  I  can  to  requite  your  mag- 
nanimity,' said  Gregor,  with  a  fervour  which  rather 
disconcerted  the  Pope. 

'  Well,  well ;  but  mind,  not  a  word  to  Zenia.     The 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  37 

arrangement  remains  between  you  and  me.  No 
love-making  in  advance !  There  is  no  use  in  turn- 
ing her  head  now — time  enough  for  that  when  the 
examinations  are  safely  passed.  Do  you  promise 
me  that?' 

Gregor  promised  readily,  and  almost  without  a 
pang.  From  an  end  Zenia  had  all  at  once  become 
only  a  means  to  an  end. 

'  That  was  a  good  idea,'  said  the  Pope  to  himself, 
left  alone  once  more,  and  thoughtfully  stroking  his 
comfortable  double  chin.  '  It  is  quite  as  likely  as 
not  that  before  the  time  is  over  she  may  have  picked 
up  another  husband  for  herself,  which  she  might  not 
do  if  she  felt  herself  bound.  But  my  money  won't 
be  wasted  on  that  account,  since  he'll  do  just  as  well 
for  one  of  the  younger  girls.' 

For  Father  Nikodem  was  a  practical  man,  and 
had  long  since  recognised  that  Gregor  was  worth 
securing  as  a  son-in-law. 


CHAPTER    V 

THERE  is  a  street  in  Lemberg  winding  up  in  easy 
curves  from  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  in  which 
a  long  white  building,  flanked  on  one  side  by  a 
weather-beaten  church,  on  the  other  by  a  stretch  of 
high  garden  wall,  forms  the  chief  feature.  From 
out  of  the  church,  as  well  as  from  behind  a  long  row 
of  windows,  there  are,  at  certain  hours  of  the  day,  to 
be  heard  the  sound  of  many  voices  chanting  in 
unison — men's  voices  and  young  voices,  as  not  even 
the  thickness  of  the  walls  can  conceal.  Those  who 
lodge  in  the  neighbourhood,  inasmuch  as  they  have 
ears  for  music,  are  people  to  be  envied,  for  whoever 
leads  that  invisible  choir  understands  his  business, 
and  the  innate  musical  genius  of  his  nation  bends 
his  pupils  to  his  will.  In  summer  more  especially, 
when  the  many  windows  stand  open,  even  the 
passers-by  are  apt  to  slacken  their  pace  at  this 
point ;  amid  the  glare  of  pavement  and  sunlit  wall, 
and  high  above  the  rattle  of  passing  vehicles,  there 
are  snatches  of  song  to  be  heard  which  rejoice  the 
town-weary  heart,  and  make  it  dream  itself  far  away 
in  the  shadow  of  some  sacred  grove  or  at  the  door 
of  some  rustic  church !  But  it  is  at  evening,  when 

38 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          39 

traffic  is  over  in  this  fortunately  not  much  frequented 
street,  that  the  best  moments  come.  Then  the  pos- 
sessors of  balconies  take  place  therein  as  though 
they  were  settling  themselves  in  a  theatre  box.  And 
though  these  informal  concerts  are  almost  invariably 
religious  in  character,  they  are  not  for  that  mono- 
tonous, since  the  splendours  of  an  Alleluia  or  a 
Gloria  are  continually  varied  by  the  sombreness  of 
a  Miserere  or  the  poignancy  of  a  Stabat  Mater.  To 
listen  to  the  voices  of  these  unseen  singers,  so  young, 
so  clear,  so  vigorous,  and  yet  all  pierced  by  that 
supreme  note  of  pain  which  seems  inseparable  from 
the  musical  Ruthenian,  is  to  come  to  believe  that 
you  are  listening  to  a  choir — if  not  of  angels,  at  least 
of  youthful  saints.  It  would  keep  the  illusion  better 
if  they  never  left  their  walls ;  but  the  sight  of  all 
these  robust,  and  anything  but  aesthetic-looking 
youths,  streaming  out  at  given  hours,  on  their  way 
to  the  theological  lectures  at  the  university,  and 
evidently  finding  some  difficulty  in  giving  to  their 
general  demeanour  the  soberness  demanded  by  their 
clerical  attire,  is  apt  to  quite  destroy  that  vision  of 
singing  angels.  No  trace  on  the  majority  of  these 
dark  or  fair  faces,  with  eyes  that  will  roam  in  spite 
of  themselves,  of  that  '  divine  despair '  which  the 
voices  seem  to  betray,  and  which,  far  more  generally 
than  not,  lies  in  some  mere  quality  of  tone.  Their 
tall  hats  and  long  black  sashes  notwithstanding, 
these  young  candidates  of  the  priesthood  look, 
generally  speaking,  remarkably  like  other  young 
men. 


40  THE   SUPREME  CRIME 

But  not  all.  Sometimes,  though  rarely,  the  visible 
individual  answers  to  the  picture  that  has  been  made 
of  the  invisible  one  ;  and  whoever  had  met  a  certain 
fair-haired  seminarist,  at  that  time  to  be  seen  in  the 
streets  of  Lemberg,  whose  wide-open  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  look  at  things  without  seeing  them,  would 
have  suffered  no  disappointment  of  his  ideals. 

Gregor  had  reached  his  fourth  year  of  studies 
without  having  quite  lost  that  sense  of  rapturous 
astonishment  with  which  he  had  first  received  the 
proposition  made  to  him  by  Zenia's  father.  He  was 
passing  through  what  would  probably  be  the  happiest 
period  of  his  life.  Not  that  he  found  his  surround- 
ings as  congenial  to  him  as  might  reasonably  have 
been  expected,  but  that  early  isolation  had  given 
him  the  faculty  of  making  to  himself  a  world  apart. 
At  first,  indeed,  he  had  nai'vely  attempted  to  share 
some  of  his  thoughts  with  other  minds,  and  had 
allowed  a  little  of  the  eagerness  which  filled  him  to 
overflow,  but  he  was  too  sensitive  not  quickly  to 
comprehend  where  sympathy  failed,  and  finding  his 
timid  remarks,  concerning  the  exaltation  of  their 
common  vacation,  received  either  with  polite  indif- 
ference or  else  with  barely  veiled  amusement,  he  had 
withdrawn  within  himself  and  henceforward  lived 
there  contentedly,  almost  forgetting  that  he  had 
companions.  A  very  brief  trial  had  sufficed  to 
convince  him  that  he  could  have  nothing  in  common 
with  men  who  regarded  the  priesthood  they  aspired 
to  as  a  good  appointment  and  nothing  more,  who 
shirked  what  they  could  of  its  obligations,  were  not 


unwilling  to  exchange  glances  with  the  young  ladies 
who  on  the  summer  evenings  sat  on  their  balconies, 
who  bribed  the  porters  to  smuggle  in  wine  and  cold 
pasties,  and  of  whom  many  kept  taroc  cards  hidden 
under  their  mattresses,  and  played  half  the  nights, 
with  a  sentinel  at  the  door  ready  to  warn  them  of 
approaching  danger.  If  there  were  congenial  spirits 
among  his  companions,  both  his  natural  diffidence 
and  his  inherent  mistrustfulness  prevented  him 
discovering  them.  Having  been  disappointed  in 
his  first  attempts,  he  somewhat  too  abruptly  lost 
hope. 

'  You  make  a  mistake,  my  son,'  one  of  his  superiors 
said  to  him  on  more  than  one  occasion.  Father 
Spiridion  was  a  keen-eyed  old  priest,  who,  being  the 
leader  of  the  choir,  not  unnaturally  took  an  interest 
in  the  possessor  of  the  best  tenor  voice  under  his 
guidance,  and  observed  him  more  than  he  would 
under  other  circumstances  have  done.  'To  live 
alone  is  not  good  for  any  soul.  To  speak  too  little 
is  sometimes  to  think  too  much,  and  these  solitary 
thoughts  are  not  always  as  full  of  charity  as  they 
should  be.  There  is  much  zeal  in  your  isolation,  but 
there  is  also  pride — spiritual  pride,  which  is  the 
most  ensnaring  of  all,  for  you  are  apt  to  believe  evil 
too  readily.  It  is  good  to  hold  your  vocation  high, 
but  beware  lest  this  very  upholding  should  not  be 
the  ruin  of  your  humility,  and  of  your  charity  too. 
I  find  in  you  many  qualities,  but  the  quality  of 
mercy  I  do  not  find  as  much  developed  as  I  love 
to  see  it.  Doubtless  you  have  many  frivolous 


42          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

companions,  but  you  have  also  some  earnest  ones  ; 
you  do  not  find  them  out  because  you  look  upon  all 
alike  with  suspicion.' 

But  Gregor's  individuality  proved  stronger  than 
these  wise  words,  and  he  went  on  living  alone  as 
before.  The  access  to  many  things  hitherto  un- 
attainable— for  instance,  to  books  and  to  music— 
entirely  sufficed  for  his  happiness  ;  and  the  thought 
of  opportunities  never  again  to  be  enjoyed  kept  him 
from  wasting  even  one  hour  of  these  precious  four 
years.  Never  did  he  lose  the  consciousness  that  he 
was  preparing  for  battle,  and  that  the  better  he 
armed  himself  the  better  would  he  be  able  to  fight 
that  fight  to  which  he  was  determined  to  consecrate 
all  his  energies.  On  the  whole,  he  was  the  quietest 
and  least  noticed  of  all  the  seminarists,  only  on  one 
or  two  occasions  being  roused  out  of  his  serene 
isolation  by  some  rough  mental  contact,  and  flaring 
out  into  almost  passionate  protestation.  Thus  any 
too  broad  compliment  paid  to  him  on  his  voice  was 
apt  to  irritate  his  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. 

'  If  I  had  a  voice  like  that,  it  is  the  stage  I  would 
go  in  for,  and  not  the  church,'  a  merry-eyed  semin- 
arist once  said  to  him  laughingly.  '  We  can  do  with 
less  than  that  for  High  Mass,  but  you  would  make  a 
glorious  Trovatore! 

1  That  is  just  what  Panna  Halka  was  saying,'  put 
in  a  stander-by,  '  when  she  inquired  who  it  was  that 
sung  the  solo  in  the  Agnus  Dei  we  were  practising 
last  week.' 

Gregor  reddened  angrily.     '  If  my  voice  is  good 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          43 

enough  for  the  theatre,  that  does  not  mean  that  it  is 
too  good  for  the  church,  does  it?'  he  asked,  with 
unwonted  sharpness.  '  What  is  it  to  any  man  or 
woman  how  I  use  it  ? ' 

Another  time  it  was  some  talk  about  his  hands, 
which  have  already  been  mentioned  as  white  and 
narrow  as  those  of  a  woman,  which  put  him  into  one 
of  his  rare  rages. 

Those  who  were  getting  near  the  end  of  their 
term  had  been  going  through  the  practice  of  various 
priestly  functions,  amongst  others  that  of  dispensing 
the  blessing  to  the  congregation,  and  among  all  the 
hands  raised  in  this  species  of  rehearsal — plump  and 
lean,  robust  and  frail,  those  of  Gregor  were  undoubt- 
edly the  ones  most  likely  to  meet  the  approval  of  a 
sculptor. 

'  How  is  it  that  hands  and  hands  can  be  so 
different  ? '  sighed  a  certain  youthful  possessor  of 
a  pair  of  regular  bear's  paws  ;  '  mine  might  be  boiled 
beetroots,  while  yours  are  living  ivory.  What  hands 
to  give  the  blessing  with!  If  I  were  a  woman,  it 
would  give  me  distractions  during  Mass.  Anyway, 
you  can  count  on  a  large  female  congregation,'  and 
he  sighed  enviously. 

Gregor  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  silent  with 
indignation,  then  he  burst  out. — Was  this  Pawel 
Prokup,  a  future  priest,  who  spoke  thus  of  hands  ? 
Had  not  God  made  all  hands,  and  could  white  hands 
be  more  pleasing  to  Him  than  red  ones?  Was  not 
the  whiteness  of  the  heart,  wherewith  the  blessing 
was  given,  the  only  thing  to  be  considered  ;  and  must 


44 

everything,  everything  be  viewed  from  the  earthly 
point  of  view,  and  turned  into  a  snare  for  the  eyes, 
and  a  pitfall  for  the  soul  ?  These  and  several  other 
things  he  said,  and  perhaps  would  have  said  more, 
but,  looking  round  with  glittering  eyes,  he  read 
astonishment  on  every  face,  and  remembered  that 
they  could  not  understand  him. 

During  all  this  time  he  had  not  again  seen  Zenobia, 
nor  any  one  of  the  family  except  Father  Nikodem, 
whom  ecclesiastical  business  had  once  or  twice 
brought  to  Lemberg,  and  who  never  failed  to  present 
his  portly  person  and  cheerful  countenance  at  the 
seminary. 

'That's  right,  my  son,'  he  would  say,  with  one 
of  those  pats  on  the  back  which  were  apt  to  make 
Gregor's  teeth  rattle,  'nothing  but  good  accounts  of 
you  ;  we  '11  make  a  famous  Pope  of  you  yet ! ' 

It  was  probably  also  to  keep  in  touch  with  this 
promising  son-in-law  that  the  Pope  pressed  him  more 
than  once  to  spend  his  vacation  at  Hlobaki ;  but 
Gregor,  who  had  no  money  for  the  journey,  and  was 
ashamed  to  ask  for  more  help,  made  vague  promises, 
and  ended  by  spending  his  vacation-time  almost 
alone  at  the  seminary,  wandering  contentedly  under 
the  big  trees  of  the  garden,  and  more  at  ease  than 
when  sharing  its  cool  alleys  with  uncongenial  com- 
panions. 

In  this  way  four  years  passed  without  another 
meeting,  and  without  Gregor  feeling  the  urgent  need 
of  one,  for  his  priesthood  engrossed  his  thoughts  far 
more  than  did  his  marriage.  When  he  thought  of 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          45 

Zenobia  it  was  chiefly  with  a  feeling  of  gratitude 
that  through  her  he  was  going  to  be  spared  all  that 
unavoidable  exercising  of  mind  over  the  future  which 
seemed  to  absorb  so  much  of  the  mental  energy  of 
his  companions.  His  matrimonial  programme  being 
thus  mercifully  fixed,  he  could  spare  his  thoughts  for 
higher  objects. 

How  deeply  occupied  his  fellow-students  were  with 
exactly  the  matrimonial  part  of  the  arrangement, 
was  proved  to  him  in  more  than  one  way,  but  more 
especially  by  the  existence  of  a  volume  which  went 
by  the  name  of  the  '  matrimonial  album,'  but  which 
showed  many  of  the  characteristics  of  a  catalogue, 
containing  as  it  did  a  collection  of  photographs — 
procured  in  all  sorts  of  official  and  unofficial  ways 
— of  all  the  marriageable  priests'  daughters  in  the 
east  of  Galicia,  for  it  is  an  exception  when  the 
candidate  for  orders  takes  to  himself  a  secular  wife. 
Below  the  photographs  the  names  of  the  originals 
were  neatly  inscribed  in  round-hand,  and  not  only 
the  names,  but  the  ages,  probable  marriage  portions, 
and  any  salient  detail  regarding  the  family,  which 
might  influence  a  possible  choice.  Thus  Sidonia 
Burlewicz  would  be  described  as  aged  nineteen, 
worth  two  thousand  florins,  and  possessing  six 
feather  pillows, — musical,  lively,  but  with  the  counter- 
poise of  a  mother  who  was  known  to  drink  ;  while 
Rosa  Beleps  had  more  money,  more  pillows,  and 
perfectly  unobjectionable  parents,  but  also  more 
years  behind  her,  as  the  photograph  alone,  without 
the  help  of  the  baptismal  register,  was  able  to  testify. 


46  THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Over  this  album  many  warm  discussions  were 
wont  to  take  place,  more  especially  on  Sunday  even- 
ings when  the  services  were  all  over.  But,  seeing 
that  it  was  worldly  prudence  and  not  sentiment  that 
guided  them,  these  debates  seldom  grew  more  than 
just  warm,  and  occasionally  jocular.  Since  marriage 
has  to  precede  ordination  it  was  naturally  wiser  to 
have  one's  plans  fixed  before  the  end  of  one's  term. 
Indeed  it  often  proved  necessary  to  fix  them  far 
earlier  than  that ;  for  the  seminarist  who  finds  him- 
self at  the  end  of  his  means,  has  frequently  no 
resource  but  to  engage  himself  to  a  priest's  daughter, 
and  finish  his  studies  at  the  expense  of  his  future 
father-in-law,  just  as  Gregor  was  doing.  At  the 
beginning  of  each  new  term  a  certain  number  would 
come  back  from  their  vacations  irrevocably  betrothed, 
upon  which  a  corresponding  number  of  photographs 
would  be  removed  from  the  album,  as  being  '  off  the 
lists.'  Collisions  were  rare,  a  long-established  custom 
having  left  the  decision  in  these  matters  to  a  friendly 
understanding. 

'  I  will  take  Leona  Chrotofis,'  one  of  the  seniors 
would  say.  '  She  gets  a  thousand  florins  less  than 
Marya  Markew,  but  she  has  a  good  face.  I  leave 
Marya  to  you,  Franek,  if  you  fancy  her.' 

'  Thank  you,'  laughed  Franek,  '  I  prefer  the  little 
Stepanski  girl.  Let  me  see — how  do  matters  stand 
there  ?  Five  sisters,  ah  mercy  !  and  the  mother  died 
of  consumption — no,  that  won't  do.  I  think  I  shall 
try  for  one  of  the  Bordewicz  girls.' 

'The  Bordewicz  girls  are  put  off  the   list,'  said 


47 

another,  'you  know,  since  the  eldest  sister  eloped 
with  Paskew.' 

'  That 's  a  pity  ! '  sighed  several  voices,  for  the 
Bordewicz  girls  were  good-looking ;  but  nevertheless 
it  would  not  occur  to  any  one  present  to  go  to  that 
house  with  matrimonial  intentions,  for  these  young 
men,  though  not  necessarily  saints  themselves,  are 
strict  moralists  when  it  came  to  choosing  a  wife. 
The  game  has  its  rules  as  well  as  any  other,  and 
to  visit  a  tabooed  house  is  considered  as  unfair  a 
move  as  to  cross  each  other's  plans  by  wooing 
the  wife  whom  common  consent  has  allotted  to 
another. 

Gregor,  who  was  understood  to  be  disposed  of 
otherwise,  had  never  hitherto  been  drawn  into  the 
discussion.  The  arrangement,  though  supposed  to 
rest  between  him  and  Father  Nikodem,  had  not  failed 
to  leak  out,  and  had  caused  Zenobia's  photograph  to 
be  kept  out  of  the  album.  Accordingly,  one  Sunday 
evening  in  the  spring  of  his  last  year,  he  was  not 
a  little  surprised,  while  passing  through  the  large 
recreation  hall,  to  hear  the  remark — 

1  Why,  that  is  Petrow's  one,  surely !  Who  put  her 
in  here?' 

Hearing  his  name  he  stood  still  for  a  moment. 

'  Look  here,  Petrow,  is  it  not  the  Mostewicz  girl 
who  is  to  be  your  wife  ?  ' 

With  a  certain  feeling  of  curiosity  Gregor  ap- 
proached the  table.  If  Zenobia's  photograph  was 
there  he  would  certainly  remove  it ;  that  was  not  its 
place.  The  album  lay  open  on  the  table  and  a  finger 


48          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

pointed  to  a  freshly-inserted  photograph.  It  was 
the  portrait  of  a  very  young  girl,  whose  eyes  and  lips 
were  laughing  straight  out  of  the  picture,  and  with 
a  white  rose  shining  like  a  star  in  the  black  cloud  of 
her  hair ;  her  dress  was  cut  out  at  the  neck  and  a 
second  rose  nestled  among  the  lace  that  touched  the 
skin.  In  face  and  expression  nothing  more  unlike 
Zenobia  could  be  conceived. 

'  No,  that  is  not  her,'  said  Gregor,  after  a  moment. 

'  Then  who  has  put  a  wrong  name  ?  Where  is 
Barnuk?  It  is  he  who  keeps  the  album.' 

'  The  name  is  not  wrong,'  said  Barnuk,  stepping 
up.  '  It  is  the  elder  Mostewicz  girl  whom  Petrow 
is  to  marry,  and  this  is  the  younger  one,  Wasylya 
Mostewicz.' 

'  Wasylya  ? '  said  Gregor.  '  But  that  cannot  be — 
she  is  a  child.' 

'  She  was  a  child  once  upon  a  time,  no  doubt. 
When  did  you  see  her  last? ' 

Gregor  thought  for  a  moment.  '  To  be  sure — that 
was  four  years  ago.' 

'  There  you  are  !  No  wonder  you  did  not  recog- 
nise her.' 

'  No,  I  did  not  recognise  her,'  said  Gregor,  looking 
with  more  attention  at  the  photograph. 

'  So  this  one  is  still  free  ? '  asked  some  one. 

'  So  it  seems.  I  wonder  if  she  really  is  as  pretty 
as  that  ? ' 

'  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  should  risk  it,'  said  another 
critically.  '  I  've  often  remarked  that  it 's  a  particular 
sort  of  girl  that  is  so  apt  to  stick  flowers  in  her  hair.' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          49 

'  Oh,  you  know  all  about  it,  of  course,'  laughed 
a  chorus  of  voices,  and  Gregor,  finding  that  the  con- 
versation was  turning  a  way  that  was  not  congenial 
to  him,  glided  out  of  the  group  and  went  back  to  his 
room. 


D 


CHAPTER     VI 

THE  sun  was  pouring  down  upon  the  maize- 
fields,  causing  the  yellow  grain  to  swell 
hourly,  and  laying  a  thicker  coating  of  gold  upon 
the  pumpkins  that  crawled  about  their  feet,  when 
Gregor  again  saw  Hlobaki.  Except  that  here 
and  there  some  hut  had  got  a  new  roof  and 
some  piece  of  paling  been  freshly  plaited,  four 
years  had  not  changed  much  about  the  village, 
but  the  man  who  came  back  to  it  was  not 
quite  the  same  that  had  left.  Successful  studies 
had  given  him  a  new  confidence  in  his  own  powers 
and  done  much  to  wipe  away  that  diffidence 
which  had  clung  to  him  since  boyhood.  He  had 
found  his  place  in  the  world,  and  the  consciousness 
of  this  altered  his  appearance  incredibly.  Despite 
the  many  hours  spent  over  books,  he  held  himself 
straighter  than  he  had  done  four  years  ago,  there  was 
no  more  doubt  in  his  clear  eyes,  no  more  hesitation 
in  his  speech ;  he  had  even  gained  enough  flesh  to 
save  him  from  the  epithet  of  '  lanky ' — formerly 
applied  to  him  not  infrequently — and  this  was  not 
astonishing,  seeing  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 

he  had  had  enough  to  eat.     The  long  robe  of  the 
so 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  51 

seminarist  sat  well  upon  his  youthful  figure,  and  on 
the  serious  young  face  the  dignity  of  priesthood 
seemed  already  to  have  set  its  stamp.  The  exami- 
nation had  been  passed  not  only  satisfactorily  but 
brilliantly,  and  with  buoyant  heart  he  came  to  claim 
the  bride  who  was  to  make  it  possible  for  him  to 
receive  orders.  Once  outside  the  seminary  his 
thoughts  had  turned  with  a  sort  of  rebound  towards 
Zenia,  as  towards  the  woman  who  was  to  be  his  com- 
panion in  his  new  life,  and  with  whom  he  longed  to 
share  his  hopes  and  aspirations.  Now  only  he  felt 
free  to  dwell  on  what  would  doubtless  be  the 
amenities  of  his  future.  He  did  not  come  straight 
from  Lemberg,  for  his  uncle,  suddenly  remembering 
the  existence  of  a  nephew  who  promised  to  be  a 
credit  to  the  family,  and  whom,  moreover,  he  was 
going  to  be  successfully  rid  of  for  ever,  had  actually 
waylaid  him  on  the  journey  and  insisted  on  a  few 
weeks  of  his  company.  Since  the  ordination  would 
not  take  place  until  November,  Gregor  had  resigned 
himself  to  paying  what  he  considered  to  be  a  debt 
to  family  feeling,  but  it  was  only  when  his  face  was 
turned  towards  Hlobaki  that  he  began  to  feel  on  the 
right  road. 

As,  somewhat  stiff  from  the  long  drive,  he  clam- 
bered out  of  the  cart  which  had  brought  him  from 
the  station,  he  almost  fell  into  Father  Nikodem's 
arms. 

'  At  last,  my  son,  at  last !  You  've  kept  us  hang- 
ing on  long  enough ;  there  have  been  impatient 
people  here,  I  can  tell  you  !  You  '11  find  one  of  them 


52          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

on  the  verandah  up  there  !  But  let 's  have  a  look  at 
you  ;  you  've  made  another  stride  since  I  saw  you 
last!' 

The  Pope  himself  was  much  the  same  in  appear- 
ance as  on  the  day  when  he  had  propounded  his 
plan  to  Gregor,  except  that  the  double  chin  had 
grown  almost  triple,  and  that  in  his  pepper-and-salt 
hair  there  was  now  more  salt  than  pepper. 

On  the  little  wooden  verandah  which  jutted  out 
among  the  lilac-trees,  and  was  now  almost  smothered 
by  four  years'  additional  growth,  the  female  part  of  the 
family  was  already  assembled.  As  Gregor  ascended 
the  well-known  creaking  steps — which  creaked  far 
worse  than  he  remembered — it  seemed  to  him  that 
it  was  quite  full  of  women ;  but  in  reality  there  were 
only  four  of  them.  Before  he  had  begun  to  dis- 
tinguish between  them  he  found  himself  enclosed 
in  a  pair  of  arms  whose  angles  he  could  feel  right 
through  the  cloth  of  his  coat,  while  the  quality  of  the 
kiss  which  the  Popadia  applied  to  his  forehead  was 
enough  to  show  him  that  he  was  already  regarded 
as  a  son.  Then  he  felt  himself  handed  over  to  the 
next  person,  who,  however,  did  not  embrace  him, 
but  held  out  her  hand,  murmuring  something.  Was 
this  Zenobia  ?  The  green  twilight,  which  reigned  on 
the  verandah  even  at  midday,  made  it  necessary  to 
look  twice ;  yes,  he  supposed  it  was  Zenobia, 
though  he  had  never  before  noted  this  likeness  to 
her  mother ;  and  she  looked  tired,  too,  despite  the 
unwonted  brightness  of  her  eyes  ;  perhaps  these  four 
years  had  appeared  longer  to  her  than  to  him — the 


53 

thought  crossed  his  mind  while  he  instinctively 
raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

The  next  in  the  row  was  a  half-grown  girl,  sallow 
and  dark. 

'  Wasylya  ?  '  said  he  inquiringly,  but  at  the  same 
moment  he  remembered  the  photograph  in  the 
album  and  got  confused.  There  was  an  audible 
titter  behind  him  ;  he  turned  that  way,  and  straight- 
way met  that  same  pair  of  laughing  eyes  he  had 
failed  to  recognise  at  the  seminary,  but  which  were 
now  regarding  him  with  undisguised  curiosity,  as 
well  as  evident  approval.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  been  aware  of  these  eyes,  even  while  mounting 
the  steps,  and  that  they  had  followed  him  while  he 
made  his  round  of  greetings. 

'  I  'm  not  Zenia  and  I  'm  not  Paraska,  so  who  can 
I  be  ?  '  said  the  owner  of  these  eyes,  with  a  smile 
that  was  ravishingly  impertinent. 

'  Wasylya  ? '  he  said  again  in  increased  wonder  ; 
while  a  vision  of  the  short-frocked  tomboy,  whom  he 
had  last  seen  chasing  pigs,  flitted  across  his  remem- 
brance. 

'  How  clever  he  is  ! '  she  laughed.  '  That 's  what 
they  make  of  people  at  Lemberg  ! ' 

'  You  are  quite  different,'  murmured  Gregor. 

'  So  are  you,'  she  said  shortly,  and  then  with 
demure  lips  but  a  spark  of  mischief  in  the  extreme 
corners  of  her  black  eyes,  '  I  'm  quite  old  enough  to 
have  my  hand  kissed,  Gregor  Petrow.' 

Every  one  laughed  at  what  was  evidently  con- 
sidered an  excellent  joke. 


54          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'I  beg  your  pardon,'  murmured  Gregor  in  con- 
fusion. He  felt  extraordinarily  hot  as  he  carried  the 
small,  plump  hand  to  his  lips,  no  doubt  because  he 
was  ashamed  of  his  own  remissness. 

In  the  dining-room,  to  which  the  Popadia  now  led 
the  way,  there  was  spread  a  meal  whose  ampleness 
testified  to  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion.  Besides 
the  national  beetroot  soup,  there  were  pirogi  (a  sort 
of  small  dumplings)  which  absolutely  swam  in  butter, 
and  the  most  artistic  sour  cream  dumplings  which 
the  Popadia  had  ever  fabricated  ;  there  were  also 
some  of  her  famous  maize-fattened  ducks  and  a 
bottle  of  that  sacred  hydromel  (a  sweet  drink  in 
which  honey  is  the  chief  ingredient),  which  never 
appeared  except  on  some  family  feast.  And  that 
this  was  considered  to  be  a  family  feast  was  made 
evident  by  everybody  being  in  their  best  clothes, 
even  the  Popadia,  whom  Gregor  had  hitherto  known 
chiefly  in  a  dressing-jacket,  and  with  fingers  gener- 
ally stained  with  the  juice  of  some  fruit  she  was 
preserving,  and  who  looked  almost  like  a  stranger 
in  a  stiff,  silk  gown,  recently  dyed  corn-blue.  And 
there  were  other  symptoms  as  well — to  wit,  the 
significant  turn  given  to  the  conversation,  and  the 
place  ostentatiously  assigned  to  him,  by  Zenobia's 
side.  Evidently  the  Pope  had  not  succeeded  in 
keeping  the  secret  entirely  between  himself  and 
Gregor.  Here,  out  of  the  green  twilight,  and  in  full 
face  of  the  window,  he  could  see  her  better  than  on 
the  verandah.  No,  really  she  was  not  as  much 
changed  as  he  had  supposed  at  first  sight ;  probably 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          55 

it  was  only  the  vicinity  of  her  younger  sister  which 
was  unfavourable  to  her.  She  had  always  looked 
more  than  her  age,  and  beside  Wasylya's  fuller  and 
fresher  face  which,  with  its  dazzling  teeth,  bright 
cheeks,  and  impertinently  square  little  nose,  might 
have  stood  for  the  very  link  between  childhood  and 
youth,  Zenobia's  pale,  dark  face  became  almost 
elderly.  Although  both  sisters  were  brunettes,  they 
belonged  to  quite  different  types ;  the  one  un- 
doubtedly handsome  in  a  sombre,  somewhat  heavy 
style,  the  other  all  movement,  and  light,  and  colour 
— especially  colour  :  for  in  the  contrast  between 
her  black  eyes  and  white  teeth,  between  the 
pink  and  creamy  tints  of  her  brilliant  complexion 
lay  Wasylya's  chief  charm.  She  was  like  a  spot 
of  light  against  the  darkness  and  pallor  of  the 
rest  of  the  family.  The  difference  between  the 
two  sisters  appeared  even  in  the  quality  of  skin 
and  hair ;  for  whereas  Zenobia's  somewhat  opaque 
skin  rarely  showed  a  change,  every  wave  of  blood 
could  be  noted  on  Wasylya's  transparent  face,  and 
while  Zenobia's  black  hair  lay  in  smooth,  massive 
coils  about  her  head,  that  of  Wasylya  clouded  around 
her  temples,  as  light  and  fluffy  as  black  floss  silk 
fresh  from  the  comb. 

It  was  Wasylya  who  talked  most  during  the  family 
meal,  and  asked  most  questions  about  his  stay  at 
Lemberg,  even  though  she  had  to  lean  across 
Zenobia  to  do  so. 

A  bowl  piled  with  young  maize-heads,  boiled  to 
the  point  of  perfection,  had  been  placed  on  the 


56 

table  amid  signs  of  universal  approval,  for  whoever 
has  not  tasted  hot  maize  with  fresh  butter  has 
missed  one  of  the  good  things  of  the  earth. 

'  It  must  have  been  ever  so  jolly  at  Lemberg,' 
Wasylya  remarked,  while  tearing  away  with  her 
small  teeth  at  the  soft,  milky  maize.  '  Do  you 
know  that  I  felt  almost  inclined  to  visit  you? — Not 
on  your  account,  you  know,'  with  a  provoking  glance, 
'  but  just  to  see  a  real  town.  Now,  do  tell  me  all 
you  know  about  it.' 

'  I  know  very  little  of  what  is  outside  the  seminary.' 

'  But  surely  you  were  at  the  circus  ?  I  know  there 
was  a  splendid  circus  there  this  summer,  because 
Hypolit  Jarewicz  told  me  all  about  the  horse  that 
fired  a  pistol.' 

'And  the  poodle  that  played  ball,'  put  in  the 
sallow  Paraska,  who  was  a  plain  likeness  of  what 
Wasylya  had  been  four  years  ago. 

'  Oh  yes,  and  I  have  been  waiting  to  ask  you 
whether  he  knocked  the  ball  with  his  head  or  with 
his  paw ;  that 's  another  reason  why  I  Ve  been  so 
impatient  for  your  coming.' 

'  But  I  did  not  go  to  the  circus.' 

'  That  deserves  a  shaking  ! '  remarked  the  Pope. 
'  Such  a  chance  of  having  a  good  laugh  is  almost 
sinful  to  waste.' 

'  Gregor  Petrow  is  too  wise  a  man  to  spend  his 
money  on  empty  pleasures,'  said  the  Popadia,  with  a 
reproving  glance  at  her  husband  and  an  approving 
one  at  Gregor. 

Zenobia   alone   made   no   remark   and   asked   no 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          57 

questions  ;  but  if  Gregor  had  been  less  occupied  with 
answering  those  of  Wasylya,  he  might  have  observed 
that  from  under  their  heavy  lids  her  dark  eyes 
strayed  often  to  his  face  and  dwelt  there  for  moments 
at  a  time  with  a  deep-felt  joy  that  was  unmistakable. 

After  the  maize-heads  had  been  thoroughly  done 
justice  to,  for  rustic  appetites  are  proof  against  many 
emotions,  there  was  an  adjournment  next  door, 
where  the  same  red  rep  chairs  stood  in  the  same 
place  that  Gregor  remembered  them  in  four  years 
ago — only  that  they  were  not  red  any  longer,  but 
faded  to  a  sort  of  ghastly  orange, — and  where  the 
blistered  old  piano  was  covered  with  jam-pots, 
exactly  as  it  had  always  been.  It  was  towards  the 
piano  that  Wasylya  went  straight  on  entering.  She 
had  insisted  on  having  some  lessons — principally 
because  the  daughters  of  a  Pope  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, who  served  as  models  of  fashion  for  the  eccle- 
siastical circle  of  these  parts,  had  learnt  music — 
and  was  evidently  burning  to  show  off  her  accom- 
plishments. 

'  Papa  says  that  you  sing  beautifully,'  she  said, 
pushing  aside  enough  pots  to  make  room  to  open 
the  lid.  '  And  I  have  been  so  curious  to  hear  you. 
There  you  have  another  reason  for  my  wanting  you 
to  come!'  and  she  looked  at  him  again  with  her 
deliciously  impertinent  smile.  '  Please  sing  me 
something  ! ' 

'  I  cannot  accompany  myself/  said  Gregor,  looking 
rather  doubtfully  at  the  instrument  whose  tone  he 
knew  of  old. 


58          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  But  perhaps  I  can  ;  you  know  I  have  had  lessons. 
But  dear  me,  perhaps  you  only  sing  sacred  things  ! ' 
and  she  made  a  little  grimace  of  mock  distress,  at 
which  the  family  again  laughed.  Wasylya's  little 
jokes  were  evidently  very  popular. 

'  I  sing  other  things  too ;  but  really  to-day  I  am 
so  little  prepared — and  all  that  dust  on  the  jour- 
ney  ' 

'  Oh,  that's  what  people  always  begin  by  saying  ! 
It 's  either  the  dust,  or  the  heat,  or  they  are  not  in 
good  voice,  or  something — I  can't  imagine  why ;  I 
always  begin  at  once.  Look  here,  I  '11  give  you 
courage  by  going  first ! '  And,  striking  a  rather 
uncertain  chord,  she  broke  into  the  sportive  tones  of 
a  Krakowiak. 

Her  voice,  though  thin  and  childish,  was  clear  and 
true,  and  the  gay  verses  were  sung  with  so  much 
verve,  and  the  naive  delight  in  her  own  performance 
was  so  evident,  that  Gregor  found  it  quite  possible 
to  condone  the  faulty  accompaniment.  As  for  the 
family,  they  were  evidently  in  ecstasies. 

'  A  perfect  little  nightingale  we  've  been  training 
while  you  were  away,  haven't  we  ? '  said  the  Pope, 
enchanted  at  the  success  of  the  pet  daughter,  in 
whom  he  loved  to  recognise  his  own  high  spirits. 
Paraska  clapped  her  hands,  and  the  mother  made  a 
set  speech  of  approval.  Only  Zenobia  said  nothing, 
which  struck  Gregor  as  a  want  of  sisterly  affection. 

'  Now  it 's  your  turn,'  said  Wasylya,  when  she 
had  drunk  in  the  applause ;  but  though  she  said 
'Now  it's  your  turn,'  she  was  looking  for  another 


THE  SUPREME   CRIME          59 

song  already,  and  upon  that  there  followed  another 
and  yet  another,  all  of  the  gay  and  playful  order. 

'  But  I  can  sing  serious  things  too,'  she  assured 
him,  flushed  with  her  own  success,  and,  composing 
her  face,  she  began  once  more. 

This  was  a  song  which  Gregor  knew,  the  song  of 
the  '  Black  Eyes,'  well  known  in  the  country,  and  set 
to  one  of  those  heartrending  popular  airs  which  seem 
to  embody  within  themselves  the  sadness  of  whole 
generations.  To  hear  the  sweet,  monotonous  plaint 
falling  from  lips  which  seemed  intended  only  to 
smile,  gave  Gregor  a  curiously  painful  impression. 
And  how  readily  came  the  words  of  a  passion  which 
to  her  surely  must  be  dark  as  yet,  and  how  the  flame 
in  the  eyes  responded  to  the  sombre,  vehement 
words ! — 

'  I  walk  on  the  earth, 
I  sail  on  the  water, 
But  whether  sunshine  glitters, 
Whether  thunder  groans  and  lightnings  flash 
Whether  the  stars  burn  in  the  sky, 
Whether  day,  whether  night  surrounds  me, 
Whether  in  the  dark,  whether  in  the  light, 
Always  with  me  and  before  me 
Those  black  eyes  shine. 

'  I  drink  honey  and  I  drink  gall, 

I  gather  thorns  and  lilies. 

The  honey  I  press  from  the  wax,  but  in  its  taste 
I  find  neither  happiness  nor  peace. 
Although  around  me  lies  the  desolate  night, 
Although  I  kiss  the  holy  relics  in  church, 
Always  on  my  mouth  do  I  feel 
Another  coral-red  mouth. 


60          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  It  is  because  that  wicked  witch 

The  world  has  bewitched  with  her  face — 
With  her  face  and  with  her  black  eyes — 
The  curse  God  himself  cannot  take  from  her. 
Everything,  everything  is  transformed  into  her, 
Whichever  way  I  turn  she  is  there. 
The  man  on  whom  the  curse  has  fallen 
Must  possess  her  or  must  die  ! ' 

When  at  length  Wasylya  remembered  that  it  was 
for  Gregor  the  piano  had  been  opened,  she  found 
him  standing  almost  in  front  of  her,  leaning  with  his 
elbow  among  the  jam-pots. 

'  Now,  something  sacred  after  all  this  frivolity  ! ' 
she  laughed — she  had  been  laughing  almost  before 
the  last  despairing  word  had  passed  her  lips. 

'  Not  to-day,'  he  said  brusquely  ;  '  I  am  not  in  the 
right  disposition  to-day.' 

'  Not  feeling  holy  enough?  How  queer  !  It  isn't 
my  songs  that  have  demoralised  you,  I  hope?  You 
can't  imagine  how  holy  you  look  in  that  long  coat — 
that  sash  alone  is  tremendously  imposing.  May  I 
look  at  it  nearer?'  And  without  waiting  for  a  reply 
she  took  up  the  end  of  the  long  black  silk  sash  that 
Gregor,  as  seminarist,  wore  round  his  waist,  and 
examined  its  fringe  attentively,  with  a  just  perceptible 
twitch  at  the  corners  of  her  swelling  lips.  As  she 
dropped  it  she  looked  up  straight  into  his  face. 

'A  red  sash  must  be  prettier,  such  as  they  wear  in 
the  Latin  seminary — but  those  are  not  allowed  to 
marry.  Aren't  you  glad  that  your  sash  is  not  red  ? 
Because  then,  you  know,  you  couldn't  marry  Zenia.' 

Before  Gregor  could  answer,  the  Popadia's  voice 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          61 

was  heard  calling  Wasylya.  In  sudden  embarrass- 
ment he  began  putting  together  the  music  that  lay 
strewed  over  the  piano,  and  even  on  the  top  of  the 
jam-pots.  He  was  aware  of  movements  behind  him, 
and  heard  the  door  open  and  shut.  When  he  looked 
round  again  he  saw  that  he  was  alone  with  Zenobia, 
and  immediately  understood  the  purpose  of  this. 
The  little  manoeuvre  had  been  too  childishly  trans- 
parent to  be  mistaken.  Doubtless  the  Pope  had 
thought  it  time  that  he  and  Zenobia  should  come  to 
an  explanation.  And  really  it  was  time — it  was 
even  strange  that  this  idea  had  not  occurred  to 
himself.  Zenobia  was  the  cause  of  his  being  here, 
and  yet  he  was  conscious  of  having  thought  very 
little  of  Zenobia  during  the  last  hour.  He  must 
make  that  good  now. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  only  sofa  of  the  room,  be- 
side the  show-table,  on  which  all  the  crotchet  covers 
and  wool-work  mats,  which  represented  the  feast-day 
gifts  of  the  last  decade,  were  crowded  together ;  and 
all  the  outward  composure  of  her  demeanour  could 
not  conceal  that  she  was  nervous.  There  was  plenty 
of  room  on  the  sofa,  and  Gregor,  as  he  went  resolutely 
towards  her,  meant  to  make  the  bold  move  of  sitting 
down  by  her  side,  but  when  he  got  close  he  took  his 
place  on  one  of  the  rep  chairs  instead. 

'  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  went  away,'  he  began, 
quite  at  random,  and  thinking  to  himself  how  abso- 
lutely commonplace  his  remark  sounded. 

'  Has  it  really  seemed  to  you  long  ? '  asked  Zenobia, 
raising  her  eyes  for  a  moment  from  the  crotchet  cover 


62 

with  which  her  slender  brown  fingers  were  nervously 
playing,  but  he  was  too  preoccupied  to  read  the  re- 
proach in  that  glance. 

1  Of  course — that  is  to  say,'  he  added  truthfully, 
'these  years  have  been  very  pleasant,  and  study 
makes  the  time  pass  quickly.  In  some  ways  these 
four  years  seem  to  me  like  four  months  only.' 

'  I  can  believe  that  study  makes  the  time  pass 
faster  than  preserving  fruit  and  feeding  the  hens/ 
she  said  with  a  touch  of  bitterness,  and  then  was 
silent  again. 

Gregor  racked  his  brain.  He  had  known  that  this 
moment  would  come ;  even  this  morning  he  had 
asked  himself  hopefully  whether  it  would  come  to- 
day ;  and  yet  now  that  it  was  here  he  found  that  he 
had  nothing  to  say  to  her.  The  sensation  was  so 
unforeseen  as  to  fill  him  with  alarm.  He  knew  ex- 
actly what  she  expected  of  him — she  and  her  whole 
family,  but  he  felt  an  unaccountable  desire  to  put  back 
the  final  word  for  a  little  longer,  to  keep  his  liberty 
for  just  a  few  hours  more,  and  with  this  desire  upon 
him,  plunged  recklessly,  and  much  more  volubly  than 
usual,  into  a  description  of  his  life  at  the  seminary  ; 
giving  her  the  plan  of  hours  in  detail,  and  being  very 
particular  about  giving  them  right,  and  yet  all  the 
time  listening  for  sounds  in  the  passage,  as  though 
he  were  expecting  something.  And  he  was  not  con- 
scious of  any  embarrassment  either,  but  rather  of  a 
new  sort  of  excitement,  a  kind  of  excitement  which 
he  had  not  known  before.  He  himself  was  aware  of 
this  unwonted  exaltation  of  spirits,  and  once  or  twice 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          63 

as  he  talked  put  up  the  back  of  his  hand  to  feel  his 
hot  cheek,  wondering  what  was  the  matter  with  him, 
and  whether  he  had  not  perhaps  drunk  too  much  of 
the  hydromel  at  dinner. 

And  while  he  spoke,  Zenobia's  ringers  were  pressed 
convulsively  against  each  other,  and  her  face  grew 
more  colourless  as  she  bent  her  head,  listening. 
When,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  Paraska  burst  in 
to  say  that  they  were  going  to  drink  coffee  in  the 
orchard,  they  had  come  to  no  explanation,  and  spoken 
no  word  which  might  not  have  been  said  before  the 
whole  family. 

That  evening  Gregor  was  alone  with  the  Pope  in 
the  room  where  stood  the  ink-spotted  table,  now 
more  spotted  than  ever. 

'Anything  to  tell  me?'  said  Father Nikodem, with 
his  comfortable  smile.  '  All  square  between  you  and 
Zenia?' 

Gregor  felt  suddenly  guilty.  '  I  have  not  spoken 
to  her  yet,'  he  almost  stammered.  '  It  seemed  to 
me  so  sudden — we  have  not  seen  each  other  for  so 
long ' 

Father  Nikodem  looked  at  him  curiously  ;  possibly 
he  had  made  his  own  observations  in  the  course  of 
the  afternoon. 

'  Well,  well — take  your  time,  by  all  means.  There 
is  no  special  hurry.  You  may  be  sure  of  your 
answer,  I  think.  For  a  moment  I  thought  that 
Hypolit  Jarewicz  was  going  to  cut  you  out,  but  it 
came  to  nothing,  after  all.' 

Hypolit  Jarewicz  was  the  son  of  the  well-to-do 


64          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Pope  at  Lussyatyn,  and  the  brother  of  the  musical 
sisters  whom  Wasylya  strove  to  emulate. 

'  Did  he  make  her  an  offer  ? '  asked  Gregor,  with  a 
deepening  sense  of  guilt. 

'  He  would  have  made  her  one  if  she  had  let  him — 
but  he 's  gone  back  to  his  studies,  and  off  the  cards 
for  the  present.  Let 's  see — this  is  Monday,  is  it  not  ? 
Take  till  Sunday  to  renew  acquaintance,  and  after 
High  Mass  we'll  celebrate  the  engagement.  That 
will  suit,  won't  it  ? 

'  Yes,  yes,  that  will  do,'  said  Gregor,  with  a  sense 
of  respite  which  was  inexplicable  to  himself;  and  he 
listened  with  a  lighter  heart  as  the  Pope  went  on  to 
speak  of  the  steps  he  had  taken  to  secure  for  Gregor 
an  appointment  in  this  part  of  the  country,  in  a 
parish  where,  as  he  said,  the  fees  were  all  that  could 
be  expected  for  a  beginning.  Gregor  agreed  to 
everything,  surprised  that  the  subject  did  not  interest 
him  so  intensely  as  it  had  hitherto  done,  and  again 
aware  of  listening  to  the  sounds  in  the  passage. 

During  the  interval  before  the  marriage  he  was  to 
remain  in  the  village,  lodging  in  the  same  hut  where 
he  had  lodged  as  schoolmaster,  and  when  after  dark 
he  crossed  the  common,  on  which  he  had  held  his 
vigil  and  had  found  Marka  Ritzko  lying  beside  the 
paling,  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  had  never 
been  away.  And  yet,  yes,  he  had  certainly  been 
away,  for  although  everything  was  the  same,  every- 
thing was  also  changed.  When  before  had  he  felt 
this  disturbance  in  his  blood  ?  Had  anything  but 
religious  emotion  ever  moved  him  as  he  now  felt 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  65 

moved  ?  Was  it  his  way  to  keep  the  air  of  a  secular 
song  so  obstinately  in  his  head,  and  why  did  it  seem 
to  him  that  out  of  the  shadows  all  around  eyes  were 
looking  at  him,  and  all  the  eyes  were  black  ? ' 

It  was  to  get  away  from  those  eyes  that  he  almost 
ran  home,  and  yet  he  found  them  again  in  his  dreams, 
and  knew  all  the  time  that,  although  Zenobia's  eyes 
too  were  black,  these  were  not  Zenobia's  eyes. 
***** 

Five  days  more  until  Sunday — with  this  thought 
Gregor  awoke  next  morning.  It  was  natural  in  the 
circumstances  that  the  greater  part  of  these  five 
days  should  be  spent  in  the  Pope's  house.  Very 
rapidly  he  resumed  his  old  habits  of  intimacy.  On 
that  second  day  already  the  Popadia,  dropping  all 
show  of  ceremony,  had  gone  back  to  her  dressing- 
jacket  and  her  stained  fingers.  It  was  the  season  for 
preserving  plums,  and  in  her  housewifely  eyes  no 
number  of  future  sons-in-law  were  worth  missing  it ; 
and  there  were  also  the  apples  to  be  gathered  and 
garnered  and  a  dozen  other  things  to  be  seen  about, 
touching  winter  provisions,  of  which  she  always  laid 
in  as  large  a  store  as  though  she  were  preparing  for 
a  six  months'  siege.  No  wonder  that  on  the  poor 
Popadia's  haggard  face  the  wrinkles  had  a  way  of 
deepening  at  this  season.  For  so  great  a  portion  of 
her  life  had  Justina  Mostewicz  been  forced  to  pinch, 
and  scrape,  and  turn  over  every  kreutzer  that  passed 
through  her  meagre  hands,  that  even  now,  when 
scraping  was  no  longer  a  necessity,  she  remained  a 
slave  to  the  habit.  A  chronic  anxiety  had  stamped 
E 


66          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

itself  upon  her  brown  leather  face,  and  was  no  more 
to  be  eradicated  than  is  the  mark  of  a  seal.  She  had 
buried  as  many  children  as  she  had  reared,  and  she 
had  loved  them  too,  and  yet  it  was  not  these  losses 
which  formed  the  tragedy  of  her  existence  and  had 
eaten  all  the  buoyancy  out  of  her  soul — it  was  the 
ever-standing  fear  of  the  larder  growing  empty,  of 
the  beans  not  being  gathered  at  the  right  moment, 
nor  the  cucumbers  salted  in  time. 

For  years  past  Zenobia  had  been  her  right  hand, 
and  despite  Gregor's  presence,  her  aid  could  not  be 
dispensed  with  now.  Since  she  was  going  to  lose 
her  so  soon  it  was  as  well  to  make  use  of  her  while 
she  could.  Wasylya  was  at  any  rate  no  great  help, 
seeing  that  she  ate  as  many  plums  as  she  stoned, 
and  made  herself  ill  with  licking  the  sugary  spoons. 
Neither  could  the  mother,  whose  horizon  was  bounded 
by  the  walls  of  her  store-room,  see  any  necessity  for 
that  billing  and  cooing  which  usually  precedes  mar- 
riage. Wasylya  and  Paraska  must  manage  to  amuse 
Gregor  meanwhile,  and  to  all  appearances  they  suc- 
ceeded perfectly  in  this.  Whether  the  time  was 
spent  in  the  orchard  gathering  apples — for  to  this 
extent  even  the  guest  was  pressed  into  service — or 
at  the  piano  trying  over  songs,  Gregor  did  not  seem 
to  find  the  hours  too  slow.  Once  or  twice  he  re- 
membered with  a  start  that  this  was  scarcely  the 
way  to  renew  acquaintance  with  Zenobia,  and  half 
remorsefully  he  would  go  in  search  of  her ;  but 
usually  he  found  her  occupied  in  tying  up  jam-pots, 
and  too  busy  to  give  him  anything  but  short  and 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          67 

hurried  answers,  which,  as  the  week  advanced,  grew 
shorter  and  more  hurried.  Indistinctly  he  became 
aware  that  the  distance  between  them  was  growing 
greater  instead  of  smaller,  and  that  she  had  not 
again  looked  at  him  as  she  had  done  on  that  first 
day  when  they  had  been  left  alone  together.  They 
were  never  alone  now,  although,  despite  the  jams, 
nothing  could  have  been  easier  than  to  contrive 
momentary  tete-a-tetes,  but  Gregor  was  not  ingenious 
at  this  sort  of  thing  and  Zenobia  did  not  contrive. 
Slowly  she  was  withdrawing  from  him,  and  he  was 
too  happy  to  realise  what  this  meant. 

For  Gregor  was  happy  in  those  days,  those  five 
strange  days  that  were  both  so  long  and  so  short, 
and  the  thing  he  could  not  understand  was  that  the 
rapture  of  his  impending  priesthood  entered  in  no 
way  into  the  composition  of  his  happiness.  The 
pale,  pure  September  sky,  the  voices  of  the  peasants 
in  the  fields  busy  gathering  their  maize,  even  the 
fragrant  heaps  of  apples  that  lay  piled  upon  the 
orchard  floor  seemed  to  be  part  of  this  new  happi- 
ness. That  apple  perfume  was  so  powerful  that,  in 
the  enclosed  space,  it  became  almost  oppressive  ;  and 
to  Gregor  it  seemed  to  mount  to  his  head,  and  at 
moments  to  cloud  his  understanding.  What  he  saw 
and  felt  and  heard  in  these  days  seemed  to  be  seen 
and  felt  and  heard  through  a  golden  haze,  which 
made  everything  appear  a  little  different  from  what 
it  really  was.  But  it  was  the  figure  of  Wasylya 
which  gained  the  most  from  this  golden  haze.  With- 
out this  haze  he  might  have  discovered  that  she 


68          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

seldom  talked  of  anything  but  herself,  and  that  her 
chief  occupation  was  the  care  of  her  personal  appear- 
ance, for  the  most  conspicuous  thing  about  this  girl 
was  a  perfectly  nai've  vanity  and  undisguised  pleasure 
in  her  own  person.  That  she  was  considered  to  be 
the  beauty  of  the  family,  not  only  by  others  but  also 
by  herself,  was  obvious ;  but  this  conviction  was 
aired  in  so  frank  and  inoffensive  a  manner,  that  it 
was  as  impossible  to  take  umbrage  at  it  as  at  a 
bird  that  prunes  its  wings  in  the  sunshine,  in  undis- 
guised delight  at  the  shimmer  of  its  own  feathers. 
When  she  was  surprised  before  the  glass  settling 
a  flower  in  her  hair — despite  the  lateness  of  the 
season  she  was  seldom  seen  without  one — she  would 
make  no  feint  of  examining  the  frame  or  rubbing  off 
the  fly-spots,  but  would  turn  round  with  a  radiant 
smile  which  seemed  to  say,  '  Am  I  not  worth 
looking  at?' 

'  I  can't  understand  how  Zenia  can  go  and  stain 
her  fingers  with  those  plums,'  she  said  to  Gregor  one 
day,  as  they  were  sorting  apples  in  the  orchard.  '  I 
wouldn't  spoil  my  hands  so  for  any  money,'  and, 
pulling  off  her  glove,  she  looked  approvingly  at  her 
white,  well-cushioned  little  hands. 

'  It 's  no  wonder  it's  white,  with  all  the  stuffs  you 
use,'  broke  out  Paraska,  with  a  younger  sister's 
mockery. 

'  Do  you  know  that  she  even  puts  glycerine  on  her 
face — oh,  and  other  things,  too — shall  I  tell  about 
the  bread  poultice,  Wasylya  ?  ' 

'I  will  tell  him  myself!'  laughed  the  other,  with 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          69 

perfect  good  humour.  'Know,  then,  I  had  chapped 
my  skin  last  winter,  and  wanted  to  get  it  right  again 
quickly,  for  I  can't  stand  anything  wrong  with  my 
face,  so  I  put  on  bread  poultices,  and  that's  what 
that  little  goose  finds  so  shocking.  Perhaps  you  find 
it  shocking  too?' 

'  Not  shocking,  but  only  uncomfortable,'  said  the 
somewhat  perplexed  Gregor. 

'  Papa  says  that  Wasylya's  face  is  the  only  toy  she 
has  ever  played  with,'  added  Paraska. 

At  which  Wasylya  laughingly  threw  an  apple  at 
her  sister's  head,  and  a  friendly  pelting  began, 
which  effectually  changed  the  subject  of  the  con- 
versation. 


CHAPTER    VII 

'T     ET'S  all  go  to  the  maize-field  to-day!'  was 
J — *     the    proposition   which    Wasylya    made   on 
Saturday  morning  to  the  family  in  general. 

The  maize  harvest  was  far  advanced.  All  day 
long  the  people  could  be  seen  coming  and  going 
between  the  fields,  and  all  night  long  the  sound  of  a 
fiddle  or  a  flute  was  to  be  heard  at  some  point  of  the 
village,  where  the  maize-heads,  gathered  by  day,  were 
being  peeled  in  company,  and  with  as  much  wodki 
as  was  necessary  to  keep  the  workers  awake.  Every 
night  the  festive  sounds  came  from  another  direction, 
and  any  one  who  had  followed  them  would  have  found 
half  the  village  assembled,  according  to  the  neigh- 
bourly custom  of  exchanging  services,  for  which  no 
other  pay  is  asked  than  w6dki>  bread,  a  little  music, 
and  possibly  dancing,  if  the  peeling  gets  finished  in 
a  reasonable  time.  The  season  of  the  tolokas  was 
the  most  festive  season  in  Hlobaki,  varying  in  festivity 
according  to  the  results  of  the  maize  harvest.  This 
year  was  a  particularly  good  '  maize  year ' ;  and  all 
hands,  from  those  of  mere  infants  to  those  of  totter- 
ing grandfathers,  were  busy  plucking  the  golden 
heads.  Masters  and  servants  worked  side  by  side 

70 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          71 

in  order  to  get  the  treasure  stored  before  the  weather 
broke.  Wasylya's  proposition  was  therefore  both 
reasonable  and  seasonable. 

'  I  have  to  bake  the  bread  for  the  toloka,'  said  the 
Popadia;  'and  there  are  those  pears  to  be  dried.  I 
can't  spare  Zenia  either ;  but  certainly  it  would  be 
good  if  you  girls  lent  a  hand — your  father  can  take 
you.  But  mind  you  do  something  beyond  chattering 
and  getting  into  the  workmen's  way  ! ' 

'Oh,  we'll  gather  mountains  of  maize!'  cried 
Paraska,  clapping  her  thin  hands,  'so  as  to  have 
a  good  toloka  \ ' 

'  And  you,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? '  asked 
Wasylya,  looking  straight  at  Gregor.  '  Would  you 
rather  gather  maize  or  help  to  dry  pears  ? ' 

'  He  had  better  go  to  the  maize-field,  by  all  means,' 
said  the  Popadia,  who  had  rapidly  calculated  that 
the  number  of  maize-heads  gathered  by  Gregor  would 
certainly  represent  a  greater  value  than  any  service 
he  could  render  her  with  the  pears. 

'  I  will  go  where  I  am  sent,'  said  Gregor,  thankful 
to  have  the  question  decided  for  him. 

That  afternoon,  accordingly,  the  Pope  sallied  forth, 
at  the  head  of  his  little  party  of  volunteers,  and 
was  received  with  many  profound  inclinations  and 
welcoming  grins  by  the  workmen  who  had  been  busy 
since  morning,  as  was  testified  by  the  mounds  of 
maize-heads  that  lay  piled  at  different  points,  ready 
to  be  transferred  to  the  carts.  It  was  Father  Niko- 
dem  himself  who,  after  a  due  exchange  of  jocular 
remarks  with  his  parishioners,  gave  the  signal  by 


72          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

divesting  himself  of  his  coat,  and,  in  shirt-sleeves, 
plunging  straight  into  the  forest  of  high  green  blades, 
that  was  topped  by  a  sea  of  feathery  heads  swaying 
gently  in  the  spicy  breeze.  The  two  girls  followed 
in  high  glee,  tucking  up  the  corners  of  the  blue  linen 
aprons  put  on  for  the  occasion,  so  as  to  serve  in  guise 
of  bags.  Gregor,  left  alone,  stared  stupidly  at  the 
Pope's  black  coat  flung  upon  the  grass,  and  wondered 
whether  he  ought  to  take  off  his  too.  He  felt 
suddenly  aware  that  he  ought  not  to  be  here,  that 
this  was  not  his  right  place.  Having  hesitated  for 
a  moment  longer,  he  walked  on  a  few  paces  and 
entered  the  maize-field  at  a  different  point.  Some- 
thing like  a  stone  had  been  lying  on  his  heart  all  day, 
and  that  stone  was  the  thought, '  To-morrow  I  shall 
be  betrothed  to  Zenobia.' 

If  he  had  but  eyes  to  see,  there  was  enough  to 
look  at  around  him,  for  a  maize-field  is  not  a  maize- 
field  alone,  but  gives  shelter  to  a  mixed  company  of 
products,  colonies  of  hangers-on  that  live  on  the 
bounty  of  the  real  lord  of  the  soil.  There  are  the 
pumpkins,  whose  golden  balls  lie  everywhere  on  the 
path,  and  whose  long,  coarse-leaved  trails  make  a 
network  over  the  floor,  and  crawl  out  of  the  borders 
on  to  the  very  road  ;  there  are  the  beans,  which 
cling  round  the  straight  maize  stalks,  and  drape 
their  festoons  from  one  maize-head  to  the  other ; 
there  are  the  humble  turnips  and  the  towering  hemp, 
that  have  been  stuck  in  to  fill  a  vacant  corner ;  and 
the  sunflower,  that  suddenly  confronts  you  as  you 
wend  your  way  in  this  miniature  forest,  whose  rust- 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  73 

ling  blades  close  above  your  head,  and  whose  broad 
leaves  and  thick  stalks  bear  a  character  of  almost 
tropical  richness.  Nor  is  the  gaudiness  of  tropical 
flowers  wanting,  for  although  those  flashes  of  red 
and  yellow  between  the  stalks  are  no  more  than  the 
aprons  and  headcloths  of  the  gathering  women,  they 
might  very  well  pass  for  the  most  gorgeous  blossoms 
that  ever  festooned  an  Indian  jungle.  The  voices 
of  the  gatherers  and  the  continual  snapping  of  stalks 
made  the  afternoon  alive,  while  sometimes  was  heard 
another  sound,  a  gentle  rush  like  that  of  water,  when 
a  fresh  apron  or  sackful  was  being  poured  upon  one 
of  the  heaps. 

Yet  of  this  gay  scene  Gregor  neither  saw  nor 
heard  anything.  His  inner  ear  was  far  too  occupied 
in  listening  to  the  lines  of  the  song  which  had 
haunted  him  all  week,  and  which  was  beginning  to 
be  his  torment — 

'Always  with  me  and  before  me 
Those  black  eyes  shine  ! ' 

The  words  were  becoming  true  with  a  fearful 
truth,  and  nothing,  either,  had  ever  been  truer  than 
that,  whichever  way  he  turned  she  was  there — that 
everything,  everything  was  slowly  transforming  itself 
into  her.  Was  it  not  she  who  was  peeping  out  at 
him  from  behind  each  maize  stalk  ?  Was  it  not  her 
dress  that  made  the  dry  blades  rustle  so  sharply? 
And  immediately,  like  a  cold  hand  laid  upon  his 
beating  heart,  the  thought  would  come  again  :  '  To- 
morrow I  am  to  be  betrothed  to  Zenobia.' 


74          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

So  busy  was  he  watching  the  phantom  Wasylya 
that  he  never  saw  the  real  one  until  she  was  close 
beside  him. 

'  Is  it  your  nerves  that  are  so  bad,  or  your  con- 
science ? '  she  asked,  laughing,  as  she  stepped  out  on 
to  a  comparatively  free  spot.  'You  started  just  now 
as  though  you  were  a  murderer  and  I  a  policeman.' 

He  turned  towards  her  half  reluctantly. 

'  Show  me  your  maize-heads  ! '  she  commanded. 

'My  maize-heads?'  He  looked  rather  helplessly 
about  him.  '  I  believe  I  have  none.  I  have  looked 
at  several  stalks,  but  somehow  I  can't  find  them.' 

She  broke  into  her  clear,  rather  shrill  laugh. 

'Perhaps  you  don't  know  what  a  maize-head  is 
like,  in  its  wrappings  ?  Come,  I  will  show  you  the 
way  to  set  about  it ! ' 

She  was  standing  close  before  him  now,  with  one 
hand  holding  together  the  corners  of  her  heavily- 
laden  apron.  The  hat  had  been  long  ago  discarded 
as  inconvenient,  and  her  bare  head  showed  only  a 
lilac  aster  nestling  a  little  above  the  ear,  while  round 
her  throat  there  glistened  five  or  six  rows  of  coloured 
beads,  the  necklace  of  one  of  the  workers,  which  she 
had  gleefully  borrowed. 

'  Look  here !  The  first  thing  is  to  keep  to  one 
row,  and  not  go  wandering  about  from  side  to  side, 
and  the  next  thing  is  to  have  something  to  put  them 
into.  Ah,  here,  by  good  luck,  is  a  masterless  sack  ! 
There,  put  it  over  your  shoulder,  and  now,  look  at 
me  well  and  do  just  as  I  do.  Remember  that  the 
more  maize  we  gather  the  more  we  shall  have  to 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  75 

peel  to-night.  It  is  our  night  for  the  toloka,  you 
know,  and  papa  has  ordered  two  fiddlers.' 

Gregor  turned  to  the  stalk  beside  him,  and  broke 
off  a  head  in  mechanical  imitation  of  her  move- 
ments. 

'Why  do  you  say  nothing?  Do  you  not  love 
music,  and  dancing,  and  fun  generally?  If  you  don't 
get  another  face  before  the  evening  I  won't  sit  beside 
you  at  the  toloka.  One  has  to  be  in  a  good  humour 
for  a  toloka,  and  to-day  you  look  positively  unhappy.' 

'  How  can  I  look  happy  to-day  when  it  is  the 
last  ? ' 

He  had  taken  fright  almost  before  he  had  spoken, 
but  she  was  not  looking  shocked,  nor  very  much 
surprised. 

'  The  last  day  of  what  ?  ' 

'  Of  liberty,'  said  Gregor,  almost  against  his  will, 
and  for  a  moment  their  eyes  rested  on  each  other, 
and  above  their  heads  they  could  hear  the  feathery 
tops  sigh  and  whistle  in  the  wind. 

It  was  Wasylya  who  spoke  first,  lightly,  and  yet 
watching  him  keenly  through  her  lashes. 

'Ought  not  last  days  to  be  made  the  most  of? 
I  have  heard ' 

'  You  are  right ! '  said  Gregor,  suddenly  throwing 
back  his  head.  It  had  come  over  him  with  the 
abruptness  of  a  revelation  that  there  were  still 
several  hours  of  freedom  before  him  ;  and,  with  a 
rebound,  his  spirit  leapt  up  from  the  depth  of  de- 
pression to  an  unreasonable  exultation.  Yes,  she 
was  right !  These  remaining  hours  were  too  precious 


76          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

to  be  moped  away — he  would  drain  their  delights  to 
the  dregs,  beating  all  thought  of  the  morrow  from 
him. 

'Yes,  I  am  fond  of  music  and  dancing,'  he  said, 
speaking  more  loudly,  and  with  a  broken  laugh  that 
did  not  sound  like  his  own.  '  Let  us  gather  so  much 
maize  that  the  toloka  must  last  all  night !  Am  I 
doing  it  right  now?' 

'  I  have  told  you  that  you  have  only  to  look  at 
me  ! '  said  Wasylya,  darting  back  a  significant  glance 
over  her  shoulder,  and  they  moved  on  side  by  side, 
often  busy  at  the  same  stalk,  their  fingers  sometimes 
entangled  in  the  fine,  silky  threads  that  burst  from 
the  wrappings  of  the  maize — as  fine  and  as  silky  as 
a  woman's  hair — Awhile  the  shadow  of  the  blades 
rippled  over  them  in  broad  stripes.  Now  and  then 
some  small  incident  varied  the  monotony  of  the 
plucking,  as  when  Wasylya  stumbled  over  a  huge 
pumpkin  and  caught  at  his  arm  for  support,  or  when 
a  green  lizard  ran  over  her  very  toes,  and  Gregor, 
making  a  grab  at  it,  inadvertently  touched  her  foot 
in  its  little,  worn  shoe.  She  pulled  it  back  with  a 
coquettish  laugh,  and  he  stood  up  straight  on  the 
instant,  but  his  heart  was  beating  so  fast  that  he 
fancied  it  must  choke  him.  And  all  the  time  that 
he  wandered  with  Wasylya,  through  what  he  was 
now  able  to  recognise  as  an  enchanted  forest,  he 
talked  and  talked  in  a  way  he  had  never  talked 
before,  of  the  most  insignificant,  the  most  trivial 
things,  and  only  for  the  sake  of  not  being  silent ; 
for  to  be  silent  for  a  moment  was  to  hear  that  voice 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          77 

inside  him  repeating  the  monotonous  phrase:  'To- 
morrow I  am  to  be  betrothed  to  Zenobia.' 

'  I  am  tired  ! '  said  Wasylya,  as  at  last,  having  come 
to  the  end  of  their  row,  they  stepped  out  on  to  the 
neighbouring  meadow.  A  pile  had  been  begun  here 
on  the  grass,  and,  opening  her  apron,  she  poured  her 
share  on  to  it,  and  straightway  sat  down  beside  it 
upon  the  turfy  bank. 

'  After  all,  one  must  keep  some  strength  for  the 
peeling  too.  Do  you  not  agree  with  me  ?  ' 

'  I  agree  with  everything  you  say,'  said  Gregor,  in 
that  tone  of  artificial  jocularity  which  sat  so  ill  upon 
him. 

'  Then  why  do  you  not  sit  down  too  ?  ' 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then  sat  down  at 
two  paces  from  her. 

From  between  the  stalks  of  maize,  and  right  over 
the  bank  on  which  they  sat  with  their  faces  to  the 
setting  sun,  the  long,  pumpkin  trails,  with  here  and 
there  a  belated  orange-coloured  blossom,  were  crawl- 
ing in  their  clumsy  fashion.  Wasylya  leant  towards 
the  one  beside  her  and  began  dragging  it  up. 

'  I  never  can  make  up  my  mind  whether  I  like 
spring  or  autumn  best.  In  spring  there  are  flowers, 
but  in  autumn  there  is  fruit,  and  though  I  like  pretty 
things,  I  like  good  things  too  ;  and  then  it  is  generally 
warmer  in  autumn,  and  I  love  warmth ;  and  there  is 
music  in  the  village  and  gay  faces,  and  all  that 
I  love.' 

'  Because  you  love  life  in  general,'  said  Gregor, 
watching  her  operations  with  the  trail. 


;8  THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  I  do,  and  even  its  noises,  and  even  its  fusses  and 
fatigues,  if  only  it  keeps  moving  and  makes  a  sound, 
and  is — well,  just  alive.  I  am  like  papa ;  I  think  it 
is  wrong  to  miss  an  occasion  for  laughter.  People 
say  so  many  hard  things  about  life,  but  if  only  I  have 
enough  to  eat,  and  am  not  too  hot  and  not  too  cold, 
and  if  nothing  hurts  me  anywhere,  I  am  quite  con- 
tent. After  all,  it  is  very  good  to  feel  as  though  one 
could  never  be  ill.' 

While  she  spoke  she  had  pulled  up  a  long  trail, 
and  had  begun  to  wind  it  round  her  head  in  the 
guise  of  a  sort  of  monstrous  wreath.  Even  the 
smallest  of  the  leaves  half  covered  her  head. 

'  There,  that  is  as  good  as  a  hat ! '  said  Wasylya, 
as  she  laughingly  passed  the  rest  of  the  trail  round 
her  shoulders  and  down  to  her  waist.  '  It  quite 
keeps  the  sun  out  of  my  eyes.' 

Gregor's  gaze  had  not  left  her  yet,  though  he  told 
himself  that  it  could  not  be  right  to  look  at  her  as 
he  was  doing.  Two  of  the  broad  pumpkin  leaves 
seemed  to  spring  from  her  shoulders  like  a  pair  of 
fluttering  green  wings,  another  lay  upon  her  breast ; 
he  could  see  it  moving,  and  the  flash  of  the  blue  and 
yellow  glass  beads  below  it,  and  he  could  see  other 
beads  as  well — the  tiny,  glistening  drops  of  perspira- 
tion which  shone  upon  her  temples  and  upon  her 
neck.  As  she  sat  thus  before  him,  wreathed  in  the 
trails  that  made  a  sort  of  clumsy  imitation  of  vine 
leaves,  and  laughing  into  his  face  with  unabashed 
black  eyes,  he  seemed  to  be  looking  upon  a  Bacchante 
fresh  from  the  feast,  and,  for  a  moment,  astonishment 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          79 

at  himself  overcame  him.  He  knew  that  he  had  had 
his  ideal  of  womanhood,  and  that  this  was  not  his 
ideal ;  but,  through  the  golden  haze  which  had  hung 
about  him  all  week,  he  could  not  recognise  any  of 
these  things  distinctly,  and  just  now  he  was  too  busy 
watching  the  gleam  of  white  from  between  her  full 
lips,  and  wondering  what  life  would  be  to  the  man 
who  should  feel  upon  his  own  mouth  that  '  second 
coral-red  mouth.'  As  a  child  gazes  on  the  ripe  fruit 
that  hangs  too  high  for  his  hand,  and  in  imagination 
tastes  it,  so  did  Gregor  look  on  those  tempting  lips. 

She  put  up  her  hand  to  pluck  the  faded  aster  from 
her  hair,  for  she  had  found  beside  her  in  the  grass  a 
bright,  blue  gentian.  He,  not  knowing  what  he 
did,  stretched  towards  her  and  touched  her  fingers, 
tentatively  at  first,  then,  finding  that  they  were  not 
withdrawn,  his  own  closed  upon  them. 

'  If  Zenia  saw  this  ? '  she  said,  with  lowered  eyes 
but  no  displeasure  on  her  face. 

'  I  am  not  betrothed  to  Zenia  ! '  he  said  vehemently. 

'  But  you  are  to  be — to-morrow ! ' 

'Yes,  to-morrow!'  he  groaned,  letting  go  her 
hand. 

'Just  in  time,'  she  whispered,  as  at  a  little  distance 
the  Pope  appeared,  panting  under  a  sackful  of  maize. 
'  Don't  look  so  desperate,'  she  added  very  low ; 
'  there  is  still  the  toloka  \ '  And  the  glance  of  flame 
which  struck  him  seemed  to  run  through  his  blood 
like  hot  iron. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

SUPPER  was  hurried  over  that  evening,  on 
account  of  the  toloka,  at  which  Father  Niko- 
dem  was  again  to  be  the  chaperon  of  his  two 
younger  daughters.  The  Popadia  declared  herself 
too  tired  to  put  in  an  appearance,  and  Zenobia, 
when  questioned,  answered  very  decidedly  that  she 
preferred  going  to  bed.  It  was,  therefore,  the  same 
company  who  had  been  to  the  maize-field  who  now 
went  across  to  the  barn. 

'  Hania  has  asked  leave  to  go  too,'  said  the 
Popadia  to  her  husband,  '  but  mind  you  keep  your 
eye  upon  her.  I  know  it 's  only  on  account  of  Jurko 
she  goes ;  so  long  as  they  peel  maize  in  company 
I  Ve  no  objection,  but  I  fancy  they  have  other 
objects  in  view,  so  if  you  see  one  of  them  disappear, 
keep  your  eye  on  the  other ;  never  let  them  both 
out  of  your  sight  at  once.  Nothing  like  a  toloka  for 
mischief  to  the  girls,'  she  explained  to  Gregor. 
'  When  every  one  is  busy,  and  the  corners  all  dark, 
nothing  is  easier  than  to  slip  out.' 

' 1  '11  look  after  her,'  said  the  Pope,  reassuringly, 
as  they  went  out. 

In  the  barn  a  large  circle  of  men  and  women  were 

80 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  81 

squatting  around  a  small  mountain  of  maize,  their 
deft  fingers  unwrapping  each  separate  head  from  its 
delicate,  silk-like  swaddlings.  Already  the  floor  was 
strewn  with  the  sheathes,  carpeting  it  more  softly 
than  the  thickest  piled  carpet  could  have  done, 
while  head  after  head,  relieved  of  its  disguise,  flew 
through  the  air  to  increase  the  yellow  pile  in  the 
corner.  The  fiddles  had  tuned  up,  and  the  wodki 
bottle  made  its  first  round. 

'  That 's  right,  children  ! '  the  Pope  said  heartily,  as 
he  wended  his  way  to  the  seats  of  honour  reserved 
for  the  family — a  couple  of  packing-cases  and  an 
overturned  tub.  '  We  're  going  to  make  the  maize 
fly,  and  the  wodki  too ' — with  a  comprehensive  wink 
to  the  company.  '  I  swear  not  to  dance  a  step  of 
Kolomeika  (the  Ruthenian  national  dance)  until  the 
last  head  is  peeled,  and  I  swear  not  to  breakfast 
until  I  have  danced  a  Kolomeika  \ ' 

A  grin  ran  round  the  company,  disclosing  enough 
sets  of  flashing  teeth  to  make  the  envy  of  half  the 
society  ladies  in  London,  then  hands  as  well  as 
tongues  set  off  moving  again. 

Gregor  found  himself  placed  between  Wasylya 
and  Paraska,  on  the  same  packing-case  with  the 
former,  but  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether 
to  be  glad  of  this  vicinity  or  sorry  that  he  was  not 
sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  circle,  where  he  could 
have  let  his  eyes  rest  full  upon  her  face.  He  felt 
that  to-morrow  he  could  not  look  at  her  as  he  still 
dared  to  look  at  her  to-day,  and  he  wanted  not  to 
waste  a  minute  of  these  last  hours.  Almost  opposite 
F 


82          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

he  could  see  Hania,  the  fair-haired,  doll-faced,  little 
servant-girl  of  the  house,  with  her  Jurko  beside 
her — both  peeling  maize  so  demurely  as  to  make 
the  Popadia's  apprehensions  appear  entirely  un- 
founded. 

Again  that  feeling  of  astonishment  at  himself  over- 
came Gregor.  It  was  so  unlike  what  he  knew  of 
himself,  to  be  making  part  of  this  noisy  company, 
and  to  be  listening  to  and  even  enjoying  the  lively 
airs  that  were  being  scraped  out  not  far  from  his  ear. 
Quite  plainly  he  could  feel  how  the  infection  which 
floated  in  the  heavy  and  yet  intangibly  dissipated 
atmosphere  began  to  gain  upon  him.  It  was  as 
though  he  had  discovered  within  his  usually  so 
austere  self  a  second  self,  to  whom  all  these  things 
were  congenial.  The  lanterns  which  dangled  from 
the  rafters  lighted  the  big  barn  fitfully,  but  the  very 
shadows  in  the  corners  seemed  to  add  to  the  mys- 
terious excitement  of  the  scene. 

Amid  songs  and  stories  and  much  passing  of  the 
wodki  bottle,  the  pile  of  maize  in  the  centre  began  to 
diminish  in  the  same  proportion  as  the  pile  in  the 
corner  began  to  grow.  With  terror  Gregor  noted 
the  swelling  of  the  one  and  the  dwindling  of  the 
other;  this  meant  that  the  time  was  passing — the  last 
precious  hours  of  this  precious  evening.  Of  private 
conversation  there  had  been  none  between  him 
and  Wasylya,  nor  could  there  be  under  the  circum- 
stances ;  but  out  of  every  trivial  word  she  spoke,  out 
of  each  of  her  glances  and  her  movements,  Gregor 
read  the  conviction  of  some  secret  understanding 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          83 

between  them,  which  existed  as  surely  as  though  it 
had  been  put  into  words. 

It  was  not  very  late  yet — scarcely  eleven — when, 
looking  across  by  chance,  he  saw  that  Hania  was 
gone  from  her  place.  The  words  of  the  Popadia 
came  back  to  his  mind  :  '  When  every  one  is  busy, 
and  the  corners  all  dark,  nothing  is  easier  than  to 
slip  out,'  and  he  vaguely  wondered  whether  Jurko 
would  follow  soon. 

'  A  mouthful  of  wodki}  the  Pope  said  to  him  at 
this  moment,  reaching  him  a  glass  across  Paraska's 
head.  '  But  you  had  better  take  a  bite  of  bread 
along  with  it,  or  you  will  find  the  stuff  too  strong  for 
your  head.  Here,  help  yourself! '  Gregor  took  the 
loaf,  cut  off  a  slice,  and  turned  towards  Wasylya  to 
ask  whether  she  would  have  one,  and  then  only  he 
noticed  that  the  place  beside  him  was  empty.  A 
minute  ago  Wasylya  had  said  to  him,  '  It  is  suffo- 
cating in  here,  I  must  manage  to  get  a  breath  of 
air,'  but  he  had  not  then  understood.  Now  he 
did  understand.  Having  handed  back  the  loaf,  he 
waited  until  he  saw  the  Pope  turn  the  other  way, 
and,  quickly  rising,  escaped  first  into  the  shadows 
behind  him — having  now  to  wade  his  way  through 
the  litter  of  sheathes  which  reached  half-way  to  his 
knees — and  from  there  slipped  easily  out  by  the 
open  door. 

'  Yes,  it  must  have  been  suffocating  in  there ' ;  he 
was  aware  of  it  only  when  he  felt  the  night  air  upon 
his  face.  The  moon  was  just  rising  above  the  trees, 
piercing  the  old  orchard  with  its  first  shafts.  It  was 


84          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

towards  the  orchard  that  it  seemed  inevitable  to 
turn  ;  here,  in  the  open  yard,  where  everything  was 
as  clear  as  day,  there  was  obviously  nothing  to  seek. 
The  first  trees  stood  close  beside  the  barn ;  the 
branches  of  one  huge  pear-tree  even  rested  upon 
its  roof,  and  sometimes  dropped  its  fruit  into  the 
sky-lights.  Gregor  traversed  the  open  space  quickly, 
but  in  the  shadow  slackened  his  pace,  peering  about 
him  with  a  heart  that  hammered  on  his  ribs.  The 
leaves  on  the  branches  were  still  thick  enough  to 
make  a  good  stand  against  the  moonlight ;  twice  he 
thought  that  he  had  found  what  he  was  looking  for, 
but  once  it  was  a  crooked  apple-tree  which  he  had 
taken  for  a  human  figure;  and  once  the  whiteness 
of  one  of  the  old  gravestones  made  him  think  that 
he  saw  her  light  dress.  Then  something  breathed 
beside  him,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  there. 

All  this  time  he  had  not  stopped  to  ask  himself 
why  he  was  looking  for  her,  nor  what  he  should  do 
when  he  found  her.  The  odd  sensation  he  had  been 
aware  of  lately  of  not  being  himself,  as  if  some  other 
force  that  was  not  his  own  will  had  taken  over  the 
government  of  his  actions  for  the  time,  came  over 
him  again,  as  he  more  guessed  than  saw  her  beside 
him.  Without  a  word,  and  without  a  thought,  he 
put  out  his  arms  and  took  hold  of  that  which  met 
them.  There  was  a  little  exclamation,  half  of  fright, 
half  of  pain,  for  he  had  been  more  vehement  than  he 
knew,  but  there  was  no  resistance. 

'  Once,  Wasylya — Wasylya,  only  once  ! '  he  said, 
without  knowing  that  he  was  speaking,  and  he  felt 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          85 

for  her  lips  in  the  shadow.  They  were  upon  his 
already,  those  '  coral-red  lips '  which  he  had  dreamt 
of  all  week  in  torment  of  spirit,  and  whose  sweetness 
he  now  drank  of  with  closed  eyes  and  brain  that 
began  to  swim. 

They  had  not  yet  drawn  apart  when,  with  a  shock 
of  panic,  he  felt  a  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

'  I  Ve  got  you,  you  rogue,  have  I  ? '  said  Father 
Nikodem's  voice  in  his  ear,  '  and  Hania,  the  demure 
one  too.  No,  no,  my  girl,  you  shall  not  escape  me 
so !  I  Ve  promised  the  Popadia  to  bring  you  to 
justice ! ' 

With  one  hand  still  on  Gregor's  shoulder,  the  Pope 
with  the  other  took  the  girl  by  the  arm  and  dragged 
her  out  into  the  moonlight.  '  You  thought  you 
would  catch  me  napping,  did  you  ?  but ' 

There  he  broke  off  short,  for  he  had  seen  the  face 
of  his  daughter.  From  her  he  stared  back  per- 
plexed at  the  second  prisoner,  bending  towards  him 
and  peering  closely  into  his  face.  To  Gregor  it 
seemed  that  the  weight  of  his  shame  must  press 
him  straight  down  into  the  earth.  He  could  see 
how  the  Pope's  round  eyes  grew  rounder  and  larger, 
while  the  whites  gleamed  in  the  moonlight  out  of 
the  dark  face,  almost  as  though  it  were  the  face  of  a 
negro ;  but  at  Wasylya  he  did  not  dare  to  look. 
Then,  just  as  he  felt  that  he  could  bear  this  no 
longer,  Father  Nikodem  released  him  with  a  shove, 
and  burst  into  the  most  explosive  laugh  that  Gregor 
had  ever  heard  from  his  lips. 

'Ah,  so  that's  it,  is  it?     It's  come  to  that,  after 


86          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

all  ? '  he  brought  out  in  short  sentences,  between  the 
fits  of  suffocating  laughter,  stamping  up  and  down 
the  while,  and  bending  now  to  one  side  and  now  to 
the  other,  as  though  this  were  the  only  means  of 
keeping  himself  from  choking.  '  I  thought  I  was 
after  two  sparrows,  and  I  've  caught  two  doves,  and 
just  at  the  moment  that  they  were  crossing  their 
bills,  too !  Oh,  this  beats  everything  ! ' 

'  I  am  a  wretch,'  said  Gregor  desperately.  '  Do 
with  me  what  you  like.' 

The  Pope  stood  still  beside  Gregor,  with  a  violent 
effort  controlling  his  hilarity. 

'  Why,  that  is  the  tragic  tone,  my  son  !  What  is 
the  need  for  that?  I  see  quite  a  different  way  of 
looking  at  the  matter,  don't  you,  Wasia?'  (It  was 
the  name  by  which  he  usually  addressed  his  favourite 
daughter.) 

Wasylya  said  nothing,  but  she  crept  a  little  nearer 
to  her  father,  and  half  hid  her  face  upon  his  sleeve. 
Her  shoulders  heaved  slightly,  though  it  was  im- 
possible to  say  whether  she  was  laughing  or  crying. 

'  Are  you  astonished  at  my  taking  the  thing  so 
quietly  ?  To  be  honest  with  you,  I  've  seen  it  coming 
all  week,  nor  could  I  see  any  reason  why  it  should 
not  come  so.  Don't  you  remember  my  telling  you 
that  when  the  four  years  were  over  you  could  come 
back  and  take  your  choice  ?  Well,  if  you  want  my 
honest  advice,  I  can  only  say,  "  Take  the  one  you 
like  best!'"  and  he  laid  his  big  hand  on  the  dark 
head. 

'  But  Zenobia?'  said  Gregor  wildly. 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          87 

'  You  are  not  bound  to  Zenia — unless  you  have 
said  anything  to  her.' 

'  I  have  said  nothing.' 

'  So  much  the  better.  Didn't  I  tell  you  from  the 
first  that  the  arrangement  was  only  for  us  two?' 

'  But  every  one  seems  to  think — it  has  been  so 
understood  ;  she  herself ' 

'  Don't  trouble  your  head  about  what  has  been 
understood ;  and  don't  imagine  that  Zenia  will  go 
a-begging  for  a  husband  because  of  your  failing  her. 
I  'm  ready  to  lay  you  a  bet  that  she  '11  end  by  taking 
Hypolit  Jarewicz.' 

'  If  I  knew  it  was  right,'  said  Gregor,  grasping  at 
his  head. 

'If  you  think  it  is  right  to  marry  one  sister  after 
kissing  the  other  one  in  the  dark,  then  stick  to  your 
duty,  by  all  means ! '  said  the  Pope,  a  trifle  im- 
patiently. '  But  have  you  asked  yourself  what  is  to 
be  said  of  Wasia,  supposing  it  is  not  I  alone  who 
have  seen  you  both  in  the  orchard  ? ' 

Just  then  Wasylya  softly  lifted  her  head  from  her 
father's  arm  and  gave  Gregor  one  look — a  look  so 
full  of  reproach  that  he  could  not  misread  it  even  by 
moonlight,  and  with  that  same  flame  in  it  which  had 
set  his  blood  on  fire  that  afternoon  by  the  maize- 
field. 

'What  do  you  say?'  asked  Father  Nikodem, 
looking  from  one  face  to  the  other.  '  Shall  I  lay 
your  hands  in  each  other's  or  not? ' 

The  Pope  had  got  hold  of  his  daughter's  fingers, 
but  Gregor  abruptly  drew  back. 


88          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  Not  until  Zenobia  has  said  that  I  am  free,'  he 
said  obstinately. 

'  Have  your  way,  you  master  in  scruples  ! '  laughed 
Father  Nikodem,  good-naturedly.  'We'll  consult 
her  at  once ;  I  dare  say  she  has  not  gone  to  bed  yet. 
For  the  sake  of  two  people's  night  rest  it  would 
be  as  well  to  have  the  question  settled  without 
delay.' 

Still  holding  his  daughter  by  the  hand,  he  turned 
straight  towards  the  house,  Gregor  following  in 
silence. 

Zenobia  was  not  in  bed  yet,  but  she  was  in  her 
room,  and  when  summoned  by  her  father,  appeared, 
looking  scared  and  rather  white,  in  a  faded  print 
dressing-gown,  and  with  her  black  hair  brushed  out 
of  her  face  and  hanging  in  one  heavy  coil  down  her 
back. 

'  What  is  it  ? '  she  asked,  standing  still  in  the  door- 
way, with  one  hand  holding  together  the  edges  of 
the  dressing-gown  on  her  breast,  where  a  button 
was  wanting,  while  her  dark  eyes,  more  open  than 
usual,  passed  questioningly  over  the  three  faces 
before  her. 

'  It  is  this,'  said  the  Pope,  who  had  sunk  heavily 
into  his  customary  seat  beside  the  big  writing-table. 
'  Here  are  two  young  people  who  have  found  out 
that  they  are  fond  of  each  other,  but  who  have  taken 
it  into  their  heads — at  least  one  of  them  has — that 
they  cannot  be  happy  without  your  consent.' 

There  was  no  immediate  answer,  and  in  the  light 
of  the  one  low-burning  candle  which  had  been  lit  on 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME  89 

the  table,  it  was  difficult  to  read  the  expression  of  a 
face  that  was  almost  out  of  the  circle  of  light.  In 
that  pause,  full  of  anguish,  the  music  of  the  fiddles 
which  could  be  heard  from  the  barn  seemed  to 
Gregor  to  be  scraped  out  upon  his  own  overstrained 
nerves.  Of  Wasylya's  face,  still  crushed  against  her 
father,  nothing  could  be  seen. 

'  I  don't  know  why  you  tell  me  this/  said  Zenobia 
at  last,  in  a  voice  so  cold  that  it  touched  Gregor's 
heated  fancy  as  though  with  a  physical  chill.  '  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  Gregor  Petrow's  happiness. 
He  is  free  to  be  happy  with  whomsoever  he  likes.' 

'  What  did  I  say  ?  '  asked  Father  Nikodem,  looking 
at  Gregor ;  but  Gregor  himself  stepped  forward. 
For  him  the  release  was  not  yet  explicit  enough. 

'  If  by  any  v/ord  or  look  I  have  given  you  to  under- 
stand— -'  he  said  earnestly,  '  I  am  ready  to  fulfil 
any  obligations  which  you  may  consider  me  to  have 
incurred.' 

Even  through  the  shadow  Zenobia  could  be  seen 
to  smile,  but  through  the  shadow,  too,  the  bitterness 
of  that  smile  could  be  read,  while  the  hand  upon  her 
breast  was  clenched  more  tightly. 

'  No,  thank  you,  Gregor  Petrow.  I  know  you 
don't  mean  to  insult  me,  but  even  your  proposal 
shows  me  how  little  you  know  me,  and  how  little 
we  could  have  suited  each  other.' 

Just  then  something  glided  close  past  Gregor's 
arm,  and  with  a  soft,  kittenish  movement,  Wasylya 
almost  sprang  at  her  sister. 

'You  give  him  to   me,  do  you  not?'  she  asked, 


90          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

putting  her  cheek  against  Zenia's,  but  at  the  same 
moment  she  fell  back,  for  Zenobia  with  an  unex- 
pected gesture  had  almost  thrown  her  from  her. 

'  How  can  I  give  to  you  what  has  never  belonged 
to  me  ? '  she  asked  passionately.  '  I  have  told  you 
that  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  Take  him,  if 
you  will,  and  do  with  him  what  you  like.' 

Quickly  turning  she  left  the  room,  but  not  before 
Gregor  had  caught  the  glance  she  threw  at  her 
sister — a  lowering  glance  of  more  than  resentment 
— almost  of  hatred,  and  which,  in  after  days,  was 
often  to  return  to  his  memory  with  a  stab  of 
pain. 

The  recognition  of  what  had  lain  in  that  glance 
troubled  him  even  now,  but  only  for  a  moment,  for 
in  the  next  Father  Nikodem  had  laid  Wasylya's 
hand  within  his,  and  everything  was  swallowed  up  in 
the  rapture  of  the  present. 


CHAPTER    IX 

DURING  the  golden  weeks  that  followed, 
Gregor  was  no  longer  either  the  fervent 
aspirant  to  priesthood  nor  the  humble  recipient  of 
the  Pope's  favours ;  he  was  simply  a  young  man  in 
love.  In  the  sense  that  other  men  are  young  he 
had  never  been  young  before,  but  few  had  known 
the  fervour  of  happiness  that  came  now  to  his  eager, 
stainless  heart,  where  everything  was  new  and  un- 
touched by  the  breath  of  previous  passion.  No 
spring  had  ever  seemed  to  him  more  full  of  beauty 
and  delight  than  was  this  autumn  season.  The  fast 
fading  marigolds  —  the  flower  most  in  favour  for 
Sunday  hats,  and  therefore  occupying  a  corner  of 
every  peasant  garden — now  glowing  among  decay- 
ing leaves  like  the  last  embers  of  a  great  conflagra- 
tion, appeared  to  him  more  full  of  charm  than  all 
the  wealth  of  blossoms  in  May,  their  pungent  odour 
more  delicious  than  the  perfume  of  violets  and  haw- 
thorn. The  miniature  forest  he  had  wandered  in 
with  Wasylya  had  been  cut  to  the  ground  :  but  the 
brown  stubble  fields  where  the  maize  stalks  stood 
stacked  into  sugar  loaves,  festively  wreathed  in  the 
pumpkin  trails  which  laced  them  into  shape,  and 

91 


92  THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

over  whose  surface  the  golden  pumpkins  themselves 
lay  discovered,  had  to  him  a  more  intoxicating 
element  than  ever  had  green  meadow  in  May.  The 
red  and  yellow  of  the  birch  woods  which  formed  the 
background  of  the  village  was  far  more  grateful  to 
his  eye  than  their  tenderest  green  in  spring.  For  him 
it  was  spring — the  spring  of  his  hitherto  so  joyless 
life.  Every  day  as  he  came  from  the  village,  follow- 
ing the  cart-track  which,  with  its  rib  of  green  seemed 
to  be  the  backbone  of  the  grassy  common,  he  looked 
towards  the  mountains  and  the  birch  woods,  and 
although  he  saw  a  sprinkling  of  snow  on  the  one  and 
a  lessening  of  leaves  on  the  other  he  felt  none  of  the 
usual  melancholy  of  autumn,  for  he  knew  that  it  was 
not  winter  that  was  coming  for  him,  but  that  by  the 
time  those  branches  were  bare,  upon  the  spring  of 
his  happiness  would  have  followed  the  summer. 

In  the  Pope's  house,  too,  everybody  seemed 
satisfied.  No  doubt  it  was  more  customary  to 
marry  one's  elder  daughter  before  the  younger  one, 
but  Father  Nikodem,  whose  shrewd  eyes  had  detected 
the  evident  sincerity  of  Hypolit  Jarewicz's  admira- 
tion of  Zenobia,  was  quite  at  rest  on  that  point.  If 
Zenobia  were  a  little  spited  by  Gregor's  change  of 
sentiment,  so  much  the  better — it  would  drive  her 
all  the  more  surely  into  Hypolit's  arms  ;  thus  calcu- 
lated Father  Nikodem,  whose  knowledge  of  women 
was  not  quite  on  a  par  with  that  of  his  own  sex — so 
that  marrying  Wasylya  really  meant  marrying  two 
daughters  with  one  stroke,  and  there  would  only 
remain  Paraska  to  provide  for.  And  besides,  what 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          93 

clenched  the  question  for  him  was  that  Wasia 
evidently  wanted  it  so ;  the  pet  child  had  never 
asked  for  an  apple  or  a  cake  without  getting  it,  so 
now  that  she  evidently  wanted  Gregor,  why  should 
she  not  get  that  too  ? 

After  the  first  moment  of  complete  astonishment 
—for  of  course  she  had  seen  nothing  coming — the 
Popadia  made  no  objection  to  the  change  of  pro- 
gramme. It  was  a  bore  certainly  to  have  to  alter 
the  clothes  which  had  been  prepared  for  Zenobia, 
but  fortunately  Wasia  was  smaller,  which  would 
providentially  reduce  the  process  to  the  taking  in 
of  seams  and  deepening  of  hems  ;  also  there  was 
comfort  in  the  thought  that  Zenobia  would  probably 
not  have  left  home  before  the  next  season's  jam- 
making.  The  prospect  of  having  to  manage  without 
her  had  already  begun  to  exercise  the  poor  Popadia's 
mind.  Zenobia  herself,  after  that  one  burst  of  resent, 
ment,  had  sunk  into  what  looked  like  indifference — 
a  rather  too  chilly  indifference  to  be  quite  convincing, 
but  an  attitude  which  at  least  helped  to  make  the 
situation  possible.  Her  dark  apathetic  face  was  the 
one  blot  on  Gregor's  happiness,  a  constant  vague 
accusation,  and  when  he  could  avoid  seeing  it  he  did. 
With  especial  pleasure  he  listened  to  every  mention 
which  the  Pope  made  of  Hypolit  Jarewicz  ;  the  mere 
existence  of  that  promising  young  man,  whom  already 
in  his  schoolmaster  days  he  had  frequently  met  here 
as  a  visitor,  was  just  now  an  inexpressible  comfort 
to  him.  To  hear  of  his  cleverness,  his  good  prospects, 
and  his  obviously  serious  intentions,  was  to  still  the 


94  THE   SUPREME  CRIME 

uneasiness  within  him,  by  telling  himself  that  instead 
of  spoiling  Zenobia's  life,  he  was  helping  her  to  reach 
a  far  more  brilliant  future  than  she  could  have 
looked  for  as  his  wife.  The  fears,  which  that  look 
of  hatred,  intercepted  on  the  night  of  the  toloka,  had 
engendered  within  him,  were  dissipated  by  these 
soothing  reflections.  For  a  moment  he  had  feared 
that  she  loved  him  in  the  way  that  he  loved  Wasylya, 
but  she  could  not  have  been  so  quiet  now  if  that  were 
true — so  he  told  himself.  That  look  must  have 
sprung  from  the  natural  resentment  of  the  slighted 
woman,  and  would  die  its  natural  death  when  her 
own  turn  came  to  be  asked  in  marriage.  There 
were  moments  when,  marking  the  apathy  on  the 
dark  face,  he  almost  doubted  having  seen  that  look 
at  all. 

But  if  he  could  have  followed  Zenobia  to  the  far- 
off  corners  of  the  orchard,  if  he  could  have  looked  in 
by  the  window  when  she  was  alone  in  her  bedroom, 
then  he  would  no  more  have  doubted,  for  there  were 
times  when  he  would  have  seen  the  woman,  who 
appeared  to  him  so  apathetic,  lying  on  the  ground 
with  her  face  pressed  to  the  grass,  or  pacing  the  floor 
with  nails  that  drew  blood  from  her  tightly-clenched 
hands,  and  wide  open,  flaming  eyes  that  did  not  look 
like  her  own.  Small  blame  to  Gregor  if  he  did  not 
guess  the  truth,  since  no  one  of  the  family — not  even 
Wasylya  who  shared  the  bedroom  with  her — had  ever 
been  witness  of  one  of  these  fits  of  overflowing  inner 
rebellion.  Once  only  she  was  surprised  in  one  of 
these  unguarded  moments,  but  it  was  only  by  Hania, 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          95 

the  servant-girl,  whom  the  Popadia  had  sent  out  one 
evening  to  give  a  final  shake  to  a  particular  apple- 
tree  from  which  she  still  expected  a  last  dish  of 
apples  to  roast  for  supper.  It  was  getting  on  for 
supper-time  already,  and  in  her  hurry  and  in  the 
dusk  Hania  did  not  see  the  dark  form  on  the  ground, 
until  she  had  stumbled  over  Zenia's  foot. 

Zenobia  sat  up  abruptly,  without  having  time  to 
dry  her  eyes,  and  seeing  the  shine  of  her  wet  face 
Hania  understood  what  had  been  that  hollow,  long- 
drawn  sound  which  had  puzzled  her  as  she  came 
along,  and  caused  her  to  cross  herself  twice ;  for,  in 
conjunction  with  the  old  gravestones,  it  had  unavoid- 
ably made  her  think  of  the  souls  in  purgatory.  The 
state  of  things  was  too  clear  to  leave  room  for  dis- 
simulation, and,  recognising  this,  Zenobia  attempted 
none. 

'  You  must  tell  nobody,'  was  all  she  said,  after  a 
moment,  still  sitting  on  the  ground,  and  almost 
savagely  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  cotton  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

'  Not  if  you  don't  want,'  said  Hania,  with  a  pro- 
digious sigh,  and  then  was  silent  out  of  pure  fellow- 
feeling  ;  for  the  little  doll-faced  servant-girl  had  a 
susceptible  heart,  and  her  acquaintance  with  Jurko 
had  enlightened  her  regarding  the  pangs  as  well  as 
the  pleasures  of  love. 

'  If  you  love  him  so  much,  why  do  you  give  him 
up  ? '  she  asked,  in  genuine  curiosity.  '  I  should 
never  give  up  Jurko  for  all  the  sisters  in  the  world.' 

'  He  has  given  me  up,  Hania,'  said  Zenobia,  not 


96          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

loudly  but  with  an  intensity  of  accentuation  which 
rather  frightened  Hania,  'and  I  had  waited  for  him 
for  four  years  ! ' 

A  minute  ago  Zenobia  would  not  have  believed 
that  she  could  speak  thus  to  Hania ;  she  could  not 
have  given  away  her  secret  with  her  own  hand,  but 
finding  it  thus  stolen  from  her,  so  to  say,  she  was 
wise  enough  or  weak  enough  to  make  no  effort  to 
take  it  back.  After  those  weeks  of  daily  and  hourly 
repression,  the  relief  of  showing  herself  unmasked, 
even  to  this  foolish  servant-girl,  proved  to  be 
irresistible. 

'  But  you  could  get  him  back  again  ;  there  is  still 
time.' 

Zenobia  gave  a  low,  hopeless  laugh. 

'  How,  I  should  like  to  know  ? ' 

'  There  are  different  ways ;  I  cannot  tell  you 
which  is  the  best  for  you — but  certainly  there  are 
ways.' 

'  I  don't  want  him  back  if  he  does  not  love  me.' 

'But  he  will  love  you,  he  must  love  you,'  said 
Hania,  with  the  conviction  of  experience.  '  He  will 
have  no  choice.  It  was  the  same  with  Jurko  and 
me  ;  for  there  was  a  time  when  Jurko  nearly  broke 
my  heart  by  going  after  Teresa  Pawluk.  I  prayed 
all  day  and  I  cried  all  night,  and  it  did  not  help, 
and  I  put  more  beads  round  my  neck,  and  a  new 
headcloth  on  my  head,  and  it  did  not  help  either. 
Nothing  helped  until  I  went  to  Ursula  Adamicz, 
and  after  I  had  done  what  she  told  me  he  became 
mine  again.' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          97 

'  What  did  Ursula  Adamicz  tell  you  ? '  asked 
Zenia  unwillingly.  She  knew  that  Ursula  Adamicz, 
who  lived  on  the  other  side  of  the  birch  wood,  had 
the  reputation  of  being  able  to  do  a  great  deal  more 
than  dry  herbs  or  cure  cattle.  Personally  she  had 
never  had  any  dealings  with  her,  but  being  a 
Ruthenian,  and  consequently  profoundly  supersti- 
tious, she  had  never  entirely  doubted  the  truth  of 
the  powers  attributed  to  her. 

'  What  did  she  tell  you  to  do  ? ' 

'  Different  things.  One  was  to  wash  myself  all 
over  with  spring  water,  and  then  to  make  a  cup  of 
tea  with  the  water  and  give  it  to  Jurko  to  drink  ; 
another  was  to  sew  a  hair  of  my  head  into  the  hem 
of  his  coat.  The  cup  of  tea  did  not  help,  though  it 
cost  me  a  good  shaking  from  the  Popadia,  for  she 
came  in  just  as  Jurko  was  swallowing  the  last 
mouthful ;  but  once  my  hair  was  in  the  hem  of  his 
coat  he  never  looked  at  Teresa  Pawluk  again.' 

Zenobia  gave  a  half  laugh,  incredulous  and  yet 
not  entirely  contemptuous.  She  was  still  sitting  on 
the  ground,  with  her  knees  drawn  up  and  her  hands 
clasped  around  them.  To  any  one  who  could  not 
read  and  write — and,  in  truth,  Zenobia  had  not 
learned  very  much  more  than  this — what  she  had 
just  heard  must  have  sounded  a  little  ridiculous, 
but  not  half  so  ridiculous  as  it  would  have  sounded 
to  any  woman,  not  necessarily  more  intelligent  but 
of  more  education,  and  living  in  different  surround- 
ings. She  had  not  indeed  heard  of  this  recipe  for 
a  cup  of  tea,  but  she  had  seen  sick  calves  incensed, 
G 


98          THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

and  dropsical  hens  made  to  swallow  the  tip  of  a 
blest  palm. 

'  And  he  is  true  to  you  since  then  ? '  she  asked, 
a  little  wistfully. 

'  He  is  like  a  dog  at  my  heels.' 

Zenobia  sighed  heavily  and  was  silent  again, 
staring  with  her  tear-blinded  eyes  between  the 
shadowy  tree-stems. 

'  I  have  never  seen  Ursula  Adamicz ;  what  is  she 
like  ? ' 

'  Old  and  very  wrinkled.' 

'  Would  she  betray  any  one  who  came  to  her  ? ' 

'  Great  God,  no !  It  is  her  business  to  be  as 
silent  as  the  grave.  She  does  not  betray  the  girls 
who  come  to  her,  for  beauty  powders — for  she  has 
powders  for  nearly  everything — and  '  (Hania  hushed 
her  voice  to  an  awestruck  whisper)  '  she  did  not 
betray  Piotr  Hadan  when  his  wife  died  all  in  a 
minute,  and  though  everybody  knew  quite  well  that  the 
powder  he  put  in  her  soup  was  that  white  stuff  they 
kill  rats  with,  and  that  he  had  got  it  from  Ursula.' 

'  He  killed  her  ? '  asked  Zenobia,  in  a  sharp, 
startled  voice. 

'  Of  course  he  did ;  don't  you  know  the  story  ? 
He  wanted  to  marry  Angjela  Markew,  so  Zosia  had 
to  go.  So  he  went  and  asked  for  a  powder  for  the 
rats,  and  did  it,  and  it  was  said  that  Zosia  herself 
had  gathered  shirling  by  mistake  instead  of  parsley 
for  putting  into  the  soup.' 

'  And  they  are  married  ? '  asked  Zenobia,  still 
listening  intently. 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME          99 

'  They  are  married,  and  seem  to  be  happy  despite 
their  consciences,  though  I  don't  know  how  they 
manage  it.  No  doubt  Ursula  Adamicz  could  hang 
him  at  any  moment  if  she  chose,  but  she  won't 
choose,  because  she  would  be  putting  herself  in 
prison  for  selling  that  white  powder  which  they  say 
only  doctors  ought  to  sell.' 

'That  must  be  a  terrible  powder,'  said  Zenobia 
below  her  breath.  '  To  think  that  it  can  do  so  much 
and  so  quickly !  How  could  she  dare  to  give  it  to 
Piotr?' 

'  It  was  for  the  rats,  he  said,  and  how  could  she 
know  what  he  would  do  with  it?' 

'  That  is  true.' 

'  Ursula  Adamicz  has  never  betrayed  anybody, 
and  she  would  not  betray  you  if  you  went  to  her. 
I  myself  should  advise  the  hair  in  the  hem — one  of 
your  beautiful  long  black  hairs — but  Ursula  may 
know  something  better,  for  she  judges  each  case  by 
itself.  Go  to  her,  Panna  Zenia,  and  you  will  never 
have  to  cry  any  more  ! ' 

In  Hania's  voice  there  was  a  little  tremor  of 
earnestness.  Her  sympathy  was  quite  sincere  and 
her  point  of  view  perfectly  simple.  Zenobia  was  a 
far  less  exacting  mistress  than  Wasylya,  who  never 
brushed  her  own  clothes,  and  made  scenes  if  her 
flounces  were  not  faultlessly  ironed  ;  therefore,  since 
it  was  obvious  that  only  one  of  the  young  ladies 
could  have  Gregor  Petrow,  Hania  naturally  preferred 
to  see  Zenia  successful. 

1 1  don't  know  if  I  shall  go,'  said  Zenobia  wearily  ; 


ioo        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  perhaps ;  but  is  that  not  the  Matka  (mother) 
calling  you  ? ' 

'  The  apples  ! '  shrieked  Hania,  abruptly  conjured 
back  to  the  necessities  of  the  moment,  and  to  the 
acute  terror  of  the  Popadia  in  which  she  chronically 
lived.  Nothing  but  her  sincere  interest  in  this  so 
thrilling  love-affair  could  have  made  her  risk  the 
scolding  which  would  now  infallibly  be  her  lot. 

It  was  dark  by  this  time,  but  Zenobia  did  not  rise 
yet.  Still  in  her  cowering  attitude  she  sat  on  the 
damp  grass,  idly  listening  to  the  thud  of  the  apples 
which  Hania  was  shaking  from  the  branches  and 
then  groping  for  on  the  ground.  She  was  turning 
over  in  her  head  all  that  she  had  just  heard. 


CHAPTER   X 

WASYLYA  stood  before  the  glass  re- arranging 
the  folds  of  the  white  cashmere  gown  that 
was  to  be  her  wedding-dress.  Like  all  the  rest  of 
the  trousseau,  it  had  originally  been  cut  out  for 
Zenobia,  and  the  necessary  alterations  had  still  to 
be  made,  nor  was  there  over  much  time  to  make 
them  in,  seeing  that  the  wedding-day  was  not  a 
week  off. 

'  I  told  you  that  the  skirt  required  more  shorten- 
ing,' said  Wasylya  to  the  assembled  audience,  which 
consisted  of  her  mother,  her  sisters,  and  Hania, 
armed  with  pins,  scissors,  and  threaded  needles. 
'  Another  pin,  please,  Mamciu,  and  I  will  show  you 
what  I  mean.  Any  one  can  see  that  this  dress  was 
not  made  for  me.' 

'  But  you  don't  tread  on  it  any  longer,'  objected 
the  Popadia  wearily,  for  the  details  of  the  toilet 
interested  her  far  less  than  those  of  the  prospective 
wedding-feast,  at  present  absorbing  all  her  energies. 

'  I  don't  tread  on  it,  no — but  it  doesn't  show  my 
feet,  either,  and  I  should  like  to  know  why  I  should 
hide  my  feet,  since  I  'm  not  in  the  least  ashamed 

of  them  ? ' 

101 


102        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

She  looked  down  coquettishly  at  the  deliciously 
narrow  little  foot  thrust  out  from  beneath  the  white 
hem. 

'  If  you  think  it  such  a  pity  to  hide  them,  I  wonder 
you  don't  get  married  barefooted/  remarked  Paraska, 
in  true  younger-sister  fashion. 

'  I  shouldn't  mind  it  a  bit  if  the  weather  were 
warmer.  I  know  that  Zenia  is  not  so  particular 
about  showing  her  feet,  and  that  is  why  she  had  the 
dress  cut  so  long ;  but  since  it  is  I  who  am  to  wear 
it ' 

She  laughed,  looking  mischievously  towards 
Zenobia's  foot,  which,  though  well-moulded  and  in 
perfect  proportion  to  her  figure,  was  not  by  any 
means  so  delicate  an  object  as  was  Wasylya's. 

'  Shall  I  cut  a  strip  off  the  bottom  ? '  asked 
Zenobia  stolidly.  '  If  you  want  it  so  short  as 
that,  there  will  be  enough  over  for  the  hem,  at 
any  rate.' 

'  No,  no  !  No  cutting  !  Only  a  mark  with  a  pin. 
How  do  I  know  what  I  may  need  the  dress  for,  later  ? 
And  who  knows  whether,  when  I  am  married,  I  may 
not  want  to  hide  my  toes.  I  mean  to  be  tremendously 
sedate  as  Gregor's  wife.' 

She  squeezed  together  her  short,  thick,  black  eye- 
lashes as  she  said  it,  and  looked  at  her  sister  from 
between  them.  She  usually  looked  at  Zenobia  when 
naively  parading  her  triumph,  but  whether  out  of 
mere  delight  in  her  victory,  or  from  that  unthinking 
and  almost  irresponsible  cruelty  which  causes  a  child 
to  pull  off  the  wings  of  a  fly,  it  would  have  been  hard 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         103 

to  say.  Curiosity,  most  likely,  had  the  chief  share 
in  these  experiments,  for  every  woman  is  a  riddle  to 
every  other  woman,  and  the  interest  of  finding  out 
exactly  how  much  Zenobia  felt,  and  to  what  degree 
her  experiments  hurt,  were,  in  great  part,  the  cause 
of  their  being  tried. 

'  Give  me  the  orange  blossoms,  will  you  ? '  she  now 
said.  '  I  want  to  see  whether  they  will  look  best  at 
the  neck  or  on  the  front  of  the  dress.'  Then,  as 
Zenobia,  without  moving  a  muscle  of  her  face, 
handed  her  the  white  cotton  flowers,  which  went 
by  the  name  of  orange  blossoms,  Wasylya  held 
them  to  her  breast  and  apparently  forgot  to  take 
them  away  again,  gazing  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy  at 
her  own  reflection.  Suddenly  she  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation, leaning  sharply  forward  towards  the 
glass. 

'  Great  heavens  !     What  do  I  see  ? ' 

'  What  ? '  asked  four  voices  in  one  breath. 

'  A  pimple  on  my  forehead  !  Another !  Several 
pimples !  Why,  it  is  a  regular  rash,  there,  under  my 
hair.  Oh,  fancy  being  married  with  a  rash  !  And  I 
wanted  to  look  my  best!' 

'  It  will  be  gone  again  by  this  day  week,'  said  the 
Popadia  soothingly. 

'  How  do  I  know  it  will  be  gone?  It  may  be 
worse  by  this  day  week.  It 's  the  same  sort  of  rash 
that  I  got  in  summer  when  I  was  heated  and  put  my 
face  into  cold  water,  and  that  lasted  a  fortnight.  I 
suppose  I  must  have  got  another  chill — perhaps  the 
other  day  after  that  walk.  Orange  blossoms  and 


104        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

pimples !  It 's  impossible  !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do, 
what  shall  I  do  ? ' 

She  was  almost  in  tears  as  she  examined  her  face 
in  the  glass,  and,  despite  the  soothing  assurances  of 
her  mother  and  Hania,  and  even  of  the  now 
sympathising  Paraska,  was  not  to  be  entirely  com- 
forted. 

'  Why  do  you  say  nothing,  Zenia  ? '  she  asked 
fretfully,  stung  by  her  elder  sister's  somewhat 
contemptuous  silence.  '  Do  you  too  think  it  will 
be  gone  ? ' 

'  I  think  it  no  great  matter  whether  it  is  gone 
or  not.' 

Wasylya  shot  a  resentful  glance  towards  her 
sister. 

'  Perhaps  it  does  not  matter ;  Gregor  will  not 
find  me  ugly,  even  with  the  rash,'  she  said,  in  the 
irresistible  desire  of  venting  her  grievance  upon 
somebody. 

'  Perhaps  not,'  answered  Zenobia,  as  stolidly  as 
ever;  but  Hania,  watching  curiously,  saw  a  quick 
contraction  about  lips  and  eyelids,  and,  with  a 
woman's  instinct,  knew  that  the  blow  had  struck. 

That  evening  Zenobia  came  in  late  for  supper, 
which  was  all  the  more  astonishing,  as  the  day  had 
been  wet  throughout. 

'  Where  have  you  been  ? '  asked  her  mother 
querulously.  '  I  wanted  you  to  help  me  with  the 
pirogi.' 

'  Lying  down  on  my  bed.  My  head  was  aching  ; 
probably  you  did  not  see  me  in  the  dark.' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         105 

'  But  your  hair  is  quite  wet ! '  cried  Paraska.  '  You 
can't  have  been  on  your  bed  all  the  time.' 

Zenobia  put  up  her  hand  and  felt  her  hair, 
on  which  the  big  raindrops  flashed  in  the  lamp- 
light. 

'  No,  not  all  the  time,'  she  said  slowly.  '  I  was 
also  out  in  the  orchard  ;  I  wanted  to  see  if  the  air 
would  help  my  head.' 

'  And  it  did  help  it,  I  suppose,'  remarked  Wasylya. 
'  You  have  got  quite  a  colour  now.' 

Zenobia's  cheeks  were  indeed  glowing  as  though 
from  the  contact  with  the  air ;  she  appeared  to  be  at 
once  excited  and  confused,  and  breathed  rather  more 
quickly  than  usual,  after  the  manner  of  a  person  who 
has  been  walking  fast. 

'  Yes,  it  may  have  helped,'  she  said  very  seriously, 
as  she  applied  herself  to  her  supper. 

Outside  in  the  passage,  meanwhile,  Hania  was 
nodding  her  head  approvingly  over  a  pair  of  ex- 
cessively muddy  boots. 

'  She  has  not  told  me,  but  I  know  where  she  has 
been,'  she  murmured  under  her  breath.  '  She  has 
borne  a  good  deal,  but  the  wedding-dress  was  too 
much  for  her  this  morning.' 

And  in  haste  Hania  caused  the  muddy  boots  to 
disappear  behind  the  kitchen  cupboard,  in  case  they 
should  meet  the  Popadia's  eagle  eye,  for  their  state 
made  it  quite  evident  that  they  had  been  outside  the 
orchard. 

The  few  remaining  days  of  Wasylya's  betrothal 
were  as  full  of  furbelows  that  were  being  sewed  as  of 


io6        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

tarts  and  pies  that  were  being  baked.  The  chronic 
state  of  trying-on,  on  which  she  had  entered,  was  a 
phase  of  her  existence  during  which  Wasylya  ought 
by  rights  to  have  been  perfectly  happy,  and  yet  she 
could  not  be  perfectly  happy  because  of  the  fear  of 
not  looking  her  best.  That  rash  on  the  forehead 
was  not  disappearing  quickly  enough  for  her  taste, 
and  this  despite  the  miscellaneous  advice  collected 
from  every  available  person.  Every  one  in  the  house, 
beginning  from  Gregor  himself  and  down  to  the 
servants,  was  earnestly  consulted  as  to  the  best 
means  of  recovering  the  flawlessness  of  her  com- 
plexion in  time,  but  few  of  the  advisers  would  take 
the  matter  seriously  enough. 

'  I  should  recommend  starvation,'  said  the  Pope, 
with  a  jocularity  that  was  maddening  under  the 
circumstances.  '  You  Ve  probably  eaten  something 
that  has  disagreed  with  you  ;  but  if  you  live  on 
water  and  dry  bread  for  three  days  your  complexion 
will  come  round.' 

The  Popadia  advised  cooling  drinks,  and  uncorked 
more  than  one  bottle  of  her  famous  raspberry  juice, 
which  Wasylya — finding  it  far  more  to  her  taste  than 
her  father's  recipe — drank  of  copiously,  reclining  on 
the  sofa  the  while,  partly  because  to  play  the  invalid 
was  to  be  exempted  from  all  necessity  of  helping  her 
mother  in  the  kitchen,  and  partly  because  the  posi- 
tion was  favourable  to  the  display  of  her  feet  and 
ankles,  of  which  she  was  so  proud.  Lotions  and 
ointments,  too,  were  called  into  requisition,  with  the 
effect  that,  on  the  day  before  the  wedding,  the  rash, 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         107 

although  still  visible,  could  no  longer  be  considered 
as  a  serious  blemish. 

'  It  won't  be  noticed  from  a  distance,  I  think,'  said 
Wasylya,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation,  as  she  settled 
herself  among  the  cushions  of  the  sofa;  'and  then 
there  is  the  veil.  But  I  shall  have  to  put  it  up  at 
dinner,  and  those  Jarewicz  girls  have  such  horribly 
sharp  eyes !  Perhaps  it  will  be  paler  still  by  to- 
morrow. Zenia,  another  glass  of  raspberry  juice, 
please  ;  it  cools  me  more  than  anything.' 

'  Presently,'  said  Zenobia,  who  had  entered  the 
room  with  a  tray  of  freshly-baked  cakes. 

'  They  look  good,'  remarked  Wasylya,  watching 
Zenia  as  she  ranged  them  on  the  piano,  '  but  I 
daren't  eat  one  now  for  fear  of  my  complexion. 
What  a  good  thing  it  is  to  have  a  complexion  like 
yours,  Zenia !  Always  the  same  colour.  Heat  and 
cold  seem  to  make  no  difference  to  it.'  She  gave 
the  peculiar  little  laugh  she  had  got  into  the  habit 
of  uttering  when  she  was  going  to  try  one  of  her 
experiments. 

'It's  almost  a  pity,  is  it  not,  that  it's  not  you 
who  are  going  to  be  married  to-morrow  ?  There 's 
nothing  wrong  with  your  complexion,  nothing  dif- 
ferent from  usual,  I  mean,  for  I  suppose  nothing 
could  ever  make  it  white.' 

Ranging  the  cakes  with  her  back  turned,  Zenobia 
made  no  answer. 

'  Tell  me,  Zenia,'  began  Wasylya  again,  while 
the  chronic  curiosity  within  her  became  suddenly 
acute,  '  do  you  really  feel  nothing  at  all,  or  are  you 


io8         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

only  pretending?  You  don't  hate  me,  do  you, 
for  taking  him  away?  I  should  not  like  to  be 
hated.  There  would  still  be  time  to  change 
places,  you  know — if  he  consents ! '  she  added, 
with  a  little  self-satisfied  chuckle.  '  Say,  do  you 
want  him  back  again  ?  I  dare  say  I  can  get  another 
husband.' 

Zenobia  turned  round  suddenly,  with  a  livid  face, 
and  with  those  wide-open  eyes  whose  size  always 
took  one  by  surprise  in  the  rare  moments  when  they 
were  fully  revealed. 

'  If  you  don't  like  to  be  hated,  then  never  speak 
again  like  that !  Would  you  give  him  up  if  I  asked 
you  to  ?  No,  you  would  cling  to  him  all  the  tighter. 
You  are  playing  with  me  like  a  cat  with  a  mouse  ; 
but  I  am  not  a  mouse,  and  you  had  better  not  make 
me  desperate.' 

There  seemed  to  be  more  words  on  her  lips,  but 
she  forced  them  back  abruptly,  for  Gregor  was  enter- 
ing by  the  opposite  door.  He  had  heard  no  more 
than  the  last  sentence,  and  that  but  indistinctly,  but 
the  tone  in  which  it  had  been  spoken  was  enough  to 
make  him  look  from  the  face  of  one  sister  to  the 
other,  trying  to  guess  what  had  passed.  That  some- 
thing had  passed  was  evident  from  Zenobia's  pallor, 
as  well  as  from  the  look  of  astonishment — almost  of 
consternation — in  Wasylya's  face.  A  momentary 
disturbance  came  over  him  but  vanished  again  as  his 
betrothed  stretched  her  hand  towards  him,  calling 
him  to  her  as  though  in  need  of  protection.  With- 
out a  further  word  Zenobia  took  up  her  tray  and 


THE   SUPREME  CRIME         109 

went  out,  to  return  a  few  minutes  later  with  a  glass 
in  her  hand. 

'  Here  is  the  juice,'  she  said,  and,  though  she  spoke 
quite  steadily,  Gregor  noticed  that  her  hand  was 
shaking  and  her  colour  had  not  yet  returned. 

'  And  you  really  think  I  shall  be  able  to  stand  the 
orange  blossoms  to-morrow  ? '  asked  Wasylya  for  the 
fiftieth  time,  when  they  were  again  alone. 

He  echoed  only  the  last  word,  probably  he  had 
not  heard  the  others. 

'  To-morrow ! '  he  mused,  looking  past  her  at  the 
little  square  window  which  a  gorgeous  sunset  was 
turning  into  a  sheet  of  reddish  gold.  '  How  often  have 
I  longed  to  be  able  to  say  "  to-morrow,"  and  now  it 
has  come !  Look,  Wasia,  the  sun  is  going  down 
already  !  Only  one  more  night — the  last  that  holds 
us  apart.' 

To-morrow  !  He  went  home  with  the  word  ham- 
mering in  his  head,  beating  about  his  heart,  and 
seeming  to  career  through  the  very  blood  in  his 
veins,  with  the  speed  of  a  messenger  of  good  tidings. 
Oh,  the  darkness,  the  sealed-up  mystery  of  those 
to-morrows,  which  so  long  as  they  remain  to-morrows 
are  so  full  of  delight,  but  which  turn  into  such  dif- 
ferent to-days ! — like  a  figure  which  seems  a  veiled 
beauty  so  long  as  we  do  not  see  its  face,  but  which, 
abruptly  unmasking,  strikes  terror  into  the  heart  by 
the  hideousness  of  its  countenance.  To-morrow ! 
Had  Gregor  been  able,  not  to  guess,  but  only  to 
conceive  what  that  to-morrow  was  to  give  him,  most 
certainly  he  would  rather  have  held  back  the  hours 


no        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

which  now  seemed  to  him  to  drag  so  slowly  ;  to  spin 
out  that  one  short  night,  which  he  now  regarded  as 
the  last  obstacle  to  his  happiness,  into  something 
indefinite  and  never-ending. 

There  are  such  things  as  apprehensions  of  coming 
evil,  nameless  terrors  of  the  mind  which  come  from 
no  one  knows  where,  but  none  of  these  touched 
Gregor.  No  cloud  of  doubt  lay  upon  his  expecta- 
tions, as  early,  very  early,  next  morning  he  set  his 
face  along  the  cart-track  which  had  been  his  path 
to  happiness  for  so  many  days  now.  The  humble 
huts  he  had  passed  by  were  gorgeous  just  now  with 
the  gold  of  their  pumpkins  piled  in  mounds  against 
their  walls,  and  of  their  maize  hanging  in  bunches 
beneath  the  broad  eaves  and  sometimes  fringing  the 
whole  length  of  a  roof.  The  sun  was  not  yet  up, 
but  the  assurance  of  its  coming  was  written  on  the 
pale,  pure  sky  and  on  the  lightly  frosted  grass.  The 
best  setting  to  a  wedding-morn  which  the  season 
could  afford — the  newly  fallen  snow-wreaths  on  the 
distant  mountains — seemed  perfectly  in  keeping  with 
the  scene,  as  did  the  white  of  the  birch  stems,  now 
almost  bare  of  leaves  and  seeming  like  a  vista  of 
marble  columns  leading  to  some  distant  sanctuary. 

It  was  not  till  he  was  quite  near  the  house  that 
Gregor  began  to  wonder  at  its  silence.  True,  it  was 
very  early  still,  but  yet  he  had  expected  more  signs 
of  bustle.  Had  he  not  left  the  Popadia  moaning 
over  the  many  jobs  still  to  do,  and,  although  the 
wedding  was  not  to  take  place  till  midday,  was  he 
not  coming  thus  early  himself  in  hopes  of  being  able 


THE  SUPREME   CRIME         in 

to  lend  a  helping  hand  at  any  point  were  it  might  be 
required  ? — being  prepared  to  lay  a  table,  or  even  to 
scour  a  saucepan,  if  necessary. 

At  the  gate,  still  no  movement,  and  not  a  window 
open  on  this  side  of  the  house !  Could  he  have 
made  a  mistake  about  the  hour?  But  no,  there  was 
the  first  sunbeam  striking  sparks  from  the  white 
mountain  tops.  Fancy  oversleeping  oneself  on  such 
a  day,  thought  Gregor,  as  he  went  in  by  the  gate, 
which  he  had  never  found  closed  either  by  day  or 
by  night.  The  front  door  was  still  locked,  but  the 
back  door — to  which  he  went  round — stood  open. 
Nobody  yet,  either  in  the  entrance  or  in  the  wide 
open  kitchen,  where  unwashed  pots  and  pans,  speak- 
ing of  yesterday's  activity,  stood  about.  His  first 
impression  was  that  the  house  was  still  asleep,  but, 
having  stood  still  for  a  moment,  he  became  aware  of 
an  inexplicable  sound  which  seemed  at  first  like  the 
hum  of  flies,  with  now  and  then  a  gentle  hiss,  as  of 
water  spilled.  He  listened  again,  and  the  hum 
resolved  itself  into  a  murmur  of  voices,  and  the  hiss 
into  the  nervously  accentuated  ss  of  whispered  words. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  fear  sprang  upon  him,  like 
some  animal  that  has  been  lying  in  wait  At  the 
end  of  a  passage  a  door  stood  open,  and  towards 
it  Gregor  walked  straight,  though  he  knew  it  was 
the  door  of  the  bedroom  where  both  Zenobia  and 
Wasylya  slept,  and  which  he  had  never  entered 
before.  It  was  not  a  large  room,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  full  of  people,  some  of  whom  he  knew  and 
some  who  were  strange  to  him.  He  recognised  one 


112 

or  two  of  the  farm  servants  and  felt  momentarily 
shocked  at  their  presence,  for  there  were  men  among 
them.  Not  thinking  anything  nor  surmising  any- 
thing, but  only  more  frightened  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  his  life,  he  pushed  his  way  through  the  small 
crowd,  which  paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  kept  its 
eyes  all  turned  in  one  direction.  Then  he  became 
aware  of  the  Pope  sunk  on  to  his  heels  at  the  foot 
of  a  wooden  bedstead  and  sobbing  like  a  child,  with 
his  head  among  the  bedclothes,  while  beside  him 
Paraska  sat  on  the  floor,  rocking  her  thin  body  from 
side  to  side.  On  a  chair  sat  the  Popadia,  not  crying, 
but  very  stiff  and  yellow  in  her  soiled  night-cap,  from 
under  whose  edges  the  grey  hairs  strayed  over  her 
eyes  in  long  dry  wisps.  Zenobia  he  did  not  see. 
Wasylya  ?  What  was  that  old  woman  doing  to  her  ? 
With  a  sudden  movement  of  anger  Gregor  pushed 
aside  the  peasant  who  bent  over  the  pillow  with  her 
ear  held  downwards,  as  though  she  were  listening 
for  something. 

Wasylya  was  lying  on  her  back,  with  her  mouth 
a  little  open,  and  with  both  arms  stretched  rigidly 
before  her  on  the  bedclothes.  Against  the  black  of 
her  disordered  hair  her  face  looked  of  an  almost 
bluish  pallor,  and  her  closed  eyes  appeared  to  be 
sunk  rather  deeply  in  her  head.  Gregor  told  himself 
this,  even  while  unconsciously  noting  each  small 
detail,  such  as  the  frayed  edging  of  her  night-gown, 
or  the  empty  glass  with  the  spoon  in  it  which  stood 
beside  the  bed,  and  in  which  the  flies  were  collecting 
around  the  last  drops  of  sugary  juice.  Without 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         113 

speaking  he  bent  down  and  touched  her  hand,  then 
started  upright  and  looked  first  towards  the  mother. 
There  was  vacancy  in  the  glance  which  met  his,  but 
the  grey  head  began  to  nod  slowly  as  though  it  were 
saying,  '  Yes,  yes,  it  is  so ! ' — and,  having  begun, 
apparently  could  not  stop,  but  went  on  mechanically 
and  regularly  nodding,  after  the  manner  of  certain 
china  figures.  Then  Gregor  looked  at  the  next  face 
— it  was  that  of  the  old  woman  whom  he  had  pushed 
aside — and  he  read  there  the  same  thing.  Behind 
him,  from  different  points  of  the  room,  there  came 
loudly-breathed,  noisy  sighs;  on  the  floor  Paraska 
was  snivelling  audibly,  while  in  one  corner  Hania, 
with  her  apron  thrown  over  her  head,  was  uttering 
a  species  of  suffocated  howl.  Gregor  looked  at  them 
all — from  one  face  to  the  other — it  was  easier  to  read 
the  truth  reflected  there  than  to  spell  it  out  for  him- 
self upon  that  other  face  against  the  pillow,  and 
every  face,  both  the  seen  ones  and  the  unseen  ones, 
gave  him  back  the  same  answer,  '  Yes,  it  is  so  !  Yes, 
it  is  so  ! ' 


H 


CHAPTER     XI 

FOUR  days  after  the  one  that  was  to  have  been 
his  wedding-day,  Gregor  was  back  again  in 
his  uncle's  house.  The  process  of  getting  there,  as 
well  as  the  resolve  which  had  led  to  his  departure 
from  Hlobaki,  was  marked  in  his  memory  by  a  great 
blank.  Of  what  happened  after  he  had  got  that 
dumb  answer  to  his  dumb  question  he  could  never 
afterwards,  even  by  the  most  careful  reflection,  give 
himself  an  account.  He  supposed  that  he  must  have 
eaten  during  those  days,  since  his  strength  had  not 
failed  him,  and  he  had  a  confused  recollection  of 
being  dragged  back  from  the  bed  on  which  the  dead 
girl  had  been  laid  out  in  state ;  but,  even  her  image 
in  the  white  dress  that  showed  her  ankles  so  plainly, 
and  with  the  cotton  orange  blossoms  on  her  breast, 
was  faint  and  blurred,  like  something  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance. In  all  these  featureless  days  there  was  one 
moment  only  which  was  perfectly  and  painfully 
clear — the  moment  after  the  funeral,  when  all  the 
mourners  were  gone  and  he  found  himself  alone  in 
the  little  wooden  church  which  still  reeked  of  the 
incense  used  during  the  ceremony,  and  where  stood 
the  wooden  platform  on  which  the  coffin  had  been 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         115 

placed.  Outside,  the  workmen  were  still  busy  with 
the  grave  ;  through  the  open  door  he  could  hear  the 
clink  of  their  spades  and  the  ring  of  their  careless 
voices.  But  even  had  they  been  gone  it  was  not 
beside  that  freshly-dug  grave  that  he  would  have 
thrown  himself  on  his  knees,  it  was  before  those 
golden  gates  through  whose  lattice-work  he  could 
indistinctly  see  the  altar.  To  the  altar  he  felt  him- 
self drawn  strongly,  irresistibly.  Kneeling  before  it, 
with  eyes  desperately  turned  towards  it,  it  was  now 
that  he  began  to  come  to  his  senses,  to  recover  that 
individuality  which  he  seemed  to  have  laid  from  him 
on  the  day  when,  stepping  off  the  cart  which  had 
brought  him  to  Hlobaki,  he  had  met  the  gaze  of 
those  black  eyes,  whose  gaze  had  transformed  the 
world  for  him,  and  himself  in  the  world.  On  that 
day  he  had  lost  himself  out  of  his  own  sight,  as  it 
were,  and  painfully  now — amid  a  convulsion  of  the 
soul  that  with  its  long-drawn  plaints  and  breathless 
sobs  came  near  to  being  a  convulsion  of  the  body — 
he  was  rinding  himself  again. 

'  God's  scourge  !  God's  scourge  ! '  he  groaned,  as, 
with  forehead  that  touched  the  floor,  he  lay  before 
those  golden  gates  which  to  his  excited  fancy  seemed 
to  have  closed  themselves  for  ever  in  his  face.  '  It  is 
His  judgment,  and  I  have  deserved  it — oh,  tenfold  ! ' 

The  boards  were  smeared  with  fresh  mud  off  the 
boots  of  the  coffin-bearers  who  had  stood  there  a 
minute  ago,  but  he  did  not  heed  it,  as,  regardless  of 
the  long  soutane  and  black  sash  he  had  always 
watched  over  so  reverently,  he  prostrated  himself 


n6         THE  SUPREME   CRIME 

after  the  manner  of  peasants.  If  the  detail  could  have 
pierced  to  his  notice  it  would  only  have  added  to  the 
bitter  satisfaction  of  the  moment,  so  great  was  the  need 
he  felt  of  debasing  himself,  of  humbling  himself  under 
the  weight  of  the  almighty  hand  which  he  thought  to 
be  aware  of  upon  him,  even  with  his  bodily  senses. 

'  His  scourge !  His  scourge ! '  he  repeated,  dragging 
himself  on  his  knees  a  little  nearer  to  the  sanctuary. 
'  His  scourge  for  the  faithless  man  ! ' 

There  were  two  distinct  acts  of  faithlessness 
weighing  upon  his  soul,  but  his  want  of  fidelity 
to  Zenobia  was  the  one  that  pressed  most  acutely 
just  now.  That  sense  of  guilt  in  her  presence  which 
his  personal  happiness  had  always  succeeded  in 
suffocating,  had  flared  up  into  blazing  self-accusation, 
now  that  that  happiness  had  ceased.  He  had  aban- 
doned her  for  Wasylya,  and  God  had  punished  him 
by  taking  Wasylya  from  him.  To  the  childlike 
cast  of  his  mind,  as  well  as  to  that  natural  sense  of 
piety  which  could  never  die  within  him,  the  matter 
appeared  quite  simple.  But  it  was  not  to  Zenobia 
alone  that  he  had  been  faithless,  it  had  been  to  him- 
self as  well.  Whither  had  flown  that  zeal  which  had 
been  born  in  his  heart  during  the  night  that  he  had 
watched  upon  the  village  common?  Whither  that 
yearning  towards  the  fulfilment  of  his  vocation, 
which  had  never  left  him  for  one  hour  in  all  the  four 
years  at  the  seminary  ?  All  the  impatience  which  he 
had  felt  in  himself  lately  had  not  been  for  the  day 
of  his  ordination,  but  for  his  wedding-day.  His 
thoughts  and  visions  had  been  the  thoughts  and 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         117 

visions  of  any  gross-minded  peasant,  of  any  frivol- 
ous worldling  who  hopes  to  possess  the  woman  that 
pleases  him.  Ah !  Father  Spiridion  had  been  right 
when  he  had  spoken  of  spiritual  pride.  Others  had 
looked  upon  him  as  a  saint,  he  himself  had  made 
comparisons  between  his  own  conduct  and  that  of 
his  comrades,  and  now,  after  four  years  of  rigid  self- 
discipline,  he  had  in  one  minute  become  weaker 
than  the  weakest  of  them  could  have  been.  Oh,  he 
deserved  to  lose  her,  he  deserved  it !  But  even  as 
he  told  himself  so,  he  knew,  with  that  certainty  that 
cannot  deceive,  that  the  wound  in  his  heart  would 
never  heal ;  that,  pour  what  floods  of  resignation  he 
would  upon  his  soul,  the  pain  of  losing  her  would 
remain  as  sharp  as  ever,  base  and  earthly  being 
as  he  was,  incapable  of  that  higher  resignation 
wherein  God's  creatures  should  find  peace — never 
having  felt  baser  and  smaller  than  now,  as,  cowering 
under  the  chastening  hand,  he  pressed  his  face 
against  the  mud-stained  boards  in  a  very  passion  of 
humiliation.  In  this  alone  there  was  relief:  to  feel 
that  hand  almost  tangibly  upon  him,  since  this  was 
a  blow  which  only  from  that  hand  and  from  no 
other,  could  be  endured.  He  had  heard  of  people 
who  did  not  believe  in  that  hand,  and  in  the  midst 
of  his  anguish  he  asked  himself  wonderingly  what 
those  sort  of  people  do  when  stricken  as  he  was 
stricken.  It  was  a  speculation  which  surpassed  his 
rather  limited  imagination. 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  he  left  the  church,  the 
workmen  had    done   with   the   grave.      He   looked 


towards  the  fresh  mound  and  hesitated  ;  the  craving 
to  throw  himself  upon  it,  and  to  weep  out  what 
remained  of  his  strength,  was  for  a  moment  almost 
irresistible.  Then  he  remembered  that  he  had  just 
been  weeping  before  another  sanctuary  ;  would  not 
the  tears  of  resignation  and  of  penance  be  defiled  by 
those  of  pure  regret  which  he  felt  now  rising  to  his 
eyes  ?  With  a  hurried  movement  he  passed  on,  as 
though  flying  from  a  temptation. 

Before  night  he  was  in  his  uncle's  house,  without 
having  looked  further  into  the  future.  He  had  not 
got  so  far  as  that  yet.  The  necessity  of  leaving 
Hlobaki  had  alone  been  clear  to  him,  and  on  that 
necessity  he  had  acted,  almost  without  reflection. 
After  that  burst  of  mental  energy  in  the  church, 
exhaustion  had  come  over  him — a  certain  stiffness 
of  mind  which  made  consecutive  thought  an  almost 
unbearable  fatigue.  It  was  the  interval  which 
Nature  required  to  collect  her  scattered  forces  before 
taking  up  the  further  battle  of  life.  If  it  were 
possible  to  live  without  thinking,  it  might  be  said 
that  Gregor  thought  nothing  in  these  days,  least  of 
all  did  it  occur  to  him  to  think  over  the  circum- 
stances attending  Wasylya's  death.  To  look  for  an 
explanation  of  the  catastrophe  could  not  come  near 
a  mind  which  accepts  everything  as  coming  straight 
from  heaven. 

Gregor's  uncle,  far  more  astonished  than  pleased 
at  his  abrupt  appearance,  watched  his  guest  per- 
plexedly, and  wondered  how  long  he  was  going  to 
have  him  on  his  hands.  Nothine  could  have  been 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         119 

easier  than  to  turn  him  out  of  the  house,  only  that 
this  small  government  official,  being  a  prudent  man, 
thought  it  a  pity  to  quarrel  with  Gregor,  until  it  was 
known  for  certain  that  he  was  going  to  be  a  failure. 
The  collapse  of  the  marriage  was  distinctly  dis- 
appointing, and  the  circumstances  tragical  enough 
to  impress  even  the  narrowest  and  driest  nature ; 
but  time  was  known  to  do  wonders,  and  accordingly 
Filip  Petrow  waited  with  as  good  a  grace  as  he 
could  command. 

When  he  had  waited  for  several  weeks,  and 
become  disagreeably  aware  that  Gregor  was  show- 
ing no  signs  of  departure,  but  continued  to 
divide  his  time  between  long  hours  in  the  church 
and  solitary  wandering  about  the  country,  Filip 
Petrow  thought  that  the  moment  for  speaking 
had  come. 

'  I  see  that  the  bishop  is  to  ordain  on  the  3Oth,' 
he  observed  one  evening  at  supper,  pointing  to  a 
paragraph  in  the  Lemberg  paper,  which  the  evening 
post  had  brought. 

'Is  he? '  asked  Gregor  indifferently,  as  he  took  the 
sheet  which  his  uncle  pushed  towards  him  across  the 
table.  When  he  had  read  the  paragraph  he  raised 
his  sad  eyes. 

'  Why  do  you  tell  me  this  ?  It  has  nothing  to  do 
with  me — now  \ ' 

'  It  could  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  you  if  you 
chose.  There  is  still  time  to  prepare ;  you  always 
intended  to  be  ordained  together  with  Prokup  and 
Franek.' 


120        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  That  was  before '  said  Gregor,  beginning  to 

tremble. 

'  I  know  it  was,  but  everything  need  not  come  to 
an  end  because  of  one  misfortune.  Look  here, 
Gregor,  I  think  it  is  time  for  you  to  tell  me  your 
plans.' 

Gregor  stared  with  his  empty  blue  eyes  at  his 
uncle. 

'  Plans  !     I  have  no  plans.' 

'But  you  will  have  to  make  some.  You  know 
quite  well  that  I  cannot  have  you  here  eternally, 
and  you  know  quite  well  that  you  will  have  to  live. 
Have  you  considered  how  you  mean  to  live  ?  You 
don't  want  to  go  back  to  the  schoolmaster  business, 
I  suppose?' 

Gregor  sat  looking  at  his  uncle,  still  without 
speaking. 

'You  have  studied  for  the  priesthood  and  for 
nothing  else ;  therefore  nothing  seems  clearer  than 
that  you  must  become  a  priest,  and  the  sooner  the 
better.  Who  knows  when  the  next  ordination  may 
take  place?  Certainly  not  before  the  end  of  the 
winter ;  and  have  you  thought  of  where  you  are  to 
spend  this  winter?' 

Gregor  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  ;  he  had  not 
even  thought  of  that. 

'You  should  be  ready  for  this  ordination,  and 
you  can  be  if  you  choose.' 

'But  I  have  no  wife/  said  Gregor,  in  a  deeply 
moved  voice. 

'  You  can  get  one  in   plenty  of  time  still.     The 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         121 

Pope  Mostewicz  has  other  daughters  besides  the 
one  who  died.  I  always  understood  that  it  was 
the  elder  one  whom  you  had  first  thought  of?  Well 
then,  why  not  think  of  her  again  ?  After  having 
studied  at  Mostewicz's  expense  it  would  scarcely  do 
for  you  to  look  for  your  wife  outside  his  house. 
But  there  is  no  time  to  lose,  and  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  go  to  Hlobaki  to-morrow.' 

'Impossible!  It  is  impossible!'  cried  Gregor, 
overturning  a  glass  in  the  vehemence  with  which 
he  started  from  the  table,  and  without  another  word 
he  left  the  room. 

He  had  been  tramping  about  for  hours  among  the 
wintry  fields  that  afternoon,  and,  having  lain  down, 
fell  fast  asleep  from  sheer  physical  fatigue.  But 
when,  after  two  hours,  he  woke  up,  he  knew  im- 
mediately that  he  would  not  sleep  again  that  night. 
The  body  rested,  it  was  the  mind  that  regained  the 
ascendency.  Those  few  phrases  that  had  been 
exchanged  at  supper  stood  ranged  before  his  inner 
vision,  as  in  former  days  his  scholars  used  to  stand 
drawn  up  in  order,  waiting  to  be  examined,  and  they 
had  been  waiting  thus  all  the  time  he  was  asleep, 
as  he  now  became  aware. 

Impossible  !  But  why  was  his  uncle's  suggestion 
impossible  ?  Was  there  anything  else  that  was  more 
possible?  Filip  Petrow  had  said  nothing  that  was 
not  strictly  true  ;  he  would  have  to  live,  not  only  in 
the  sense  of  feeding  and  clothing  himself,  but  also 
in  the  sense  of  having  some  object  which  would 
make  existence  seem  worth  while.  Out  of  the  wreck 


122        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

of  the  past  there  was  nothing  but  that  hope  of 
priesthood  which  remained  to  him ;  could  he  throw 
that  away  ?  Not  that  he  was  worthy  of  it — ah,  far 
more  unworthy  surely  than  when  he  had  kept  his 
vigil  on  the  village  common  ! — but  that  nothing  else 
could  suffice  to  give  him  back  the  power  of  living. 
And  to  be  a  priest  he  must  have  a  wife,  and  what 
other  wife  could  he  possibly  choose  than  the  one 
woman  to  whom  he  owed  a  reparation?  Was  it  not 
towards  this  that  Providence  had  been  leading  him 
along  so  rough  a  path  ?  Lying  back  on  his  pillow, 
with  his  face  turned  up  to  the  ceiling,  on  which  the 
street  lantern  opposite  threw  a  pale  reflection,  Gregor 
tried  to  realise  to  himself  what  exactly  was  his  posi- 
tion with  regard  to  Zenobia.  What  was  she  to  him  ? 
A  woman  whom  he  had  once  thought  to  love  until 
he  had  found  out  what  really  was  the  thing  which 
men  called  by  that  name.  A  woman  whom  he  had 
cruelly  slighted,  while  never  ceasing  to  esteem,  and 
who  perhaps  loved  him.  Doubtless  she  would  be 
the  right  helpmate  to  have  at  his  side  in  the  life  of 
serious  work,  which  was  what  he  began  to  see  before 
him,  bare  of  all  those  dallyings  and  soft  pleasures  of 
which  he  had  dreamed,  but  oh,  so  briefly !  For  him 
the  recreations  of  life  had  ceased,  and  there  remained 
only  the  work — and  Zenobia  could  work,  he  was  sure 

of  that — better,  no  doubt,  than !  no,  he  could 

not  speak  the  name  even  in  thought,  without  the 
wound  beginning  to  ache. 

And  that,  too,  was  true  what  his  uncle  had  said 
about  the  impossibility  of  looking  for  his  wife  else- 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         123 

where,  since  it  was  Father  Nikodem's  money  which 
had  made  priesthood  possible  to  him.  How  strange 
that  he  should  not  have  thought  of  this  before !  It 
could  only  be  because  he  had  thought  of  absolutely 
nothing.  Having  remembered  it  now,  the  urgency 
of  the  reason  began  to  grow  so  rapidly  in  his  mind, 
and  the  necessity  of  action  to  press  upon  him  so 
heavily,  that  he  found  it  difficult  to  lie  still  in  his 
bed.  Yes,  he  would  go  to  her  without  delay ;  but 
would  she  listen  to  him  now?  If  not,  he  would 
accept  his  rejection  as  part  of  his  punishment — one 
more  reason  for  humbling  himself  to  the  dust. 

On  the  next  day,  without  further  hesitation,  but  also 
without  joy,  with  the  calmness  of  one  who  fulfils  a 
self-evident  duty,  Gregor  started  for  Hlobaki. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE  snow  was  dropping  slowly  from  a  low,  grey 
sky  as  Gregor  stopped  before  the  familiar  gate. 
In  the  mist  of  flakes  which  veiled  the  irregular  circle 
of  crouching  huts,  the  village  common  might  have 
been  a  plain  stretching  into  immeasurable  distance. 
From  the  outside  the  house  looked  very  still,  just  as 
it  had  looked  on  that  frightful  morning,  thought 
Gregor,  with  a  shudder ;  but  in  the  entrance,  and 
while  he  was  shaking  the  snow  from  his  shoulders, 
he  could  hear  the  voice  of  the  Popadia,  high  and 
strident  as  ever,  disputing  with  somebody  behind  a 
closed  door.  Hania,  having  peeped  out  of  the  kitchen, 
seemed,  on  seeing  him,  to  become  suddenly  trans- 
fixed with  astonishment,  her  open-mouthed,  goggle- 
eyed  face  remaining  immovable  in  the  chink. 

'Is  the  Pope  at  home?'  asked  Gregor,  at  which, 
to  his  consternation,  she  burst  into  tears. 

'  Has  anything  new  happened  ? '  he  asked,  but 
without  emotion. 

'  No,  no,  only  the  old  thing  ;  but  it  is  so  dreadful, 
so  dreadful !  I  cannot  sleep  for  thinking  of  it.' 

She  had  come  out  of  the  kitchen  by  this  time, 
and  was  fumbling  for  his  hand,  which,  while  pressing 

124 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         125 

on  it  the  obligatory  kiss,  she  managed  to  cover 
with  tears. 

'  The  Popadia  is  engaged  ? ' 

'  Yes,  in  the  dining-room,  bargaining  with  Sylvester 
Robak  about  the  price  of  his  marriage.'  Suddenly 
she  looked  up  straight  at  him.  '  What  have  you 
come  for?  Not  to  woo  Panna  Zenia?' 

Upon  her  round  face,  that  was  so  like  the  face  of  a 
wax  doll,  and  on  which  all  strong  emotions  sat  so 
incongruously,  something  like  terror  was  grotesquely 
painted.  Gregor  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment. 
'  She  must  have  been  fond  of  her  mistress,'  was  the 
thought  which  crossed  his  mind,  unconsciously 
inclining  him  more  indulgently  towards  the  foolish 
little  servant.  He  had  not  answered  her  when  the 
Popadia  came  along,  in  a  dressing-jacket  he  knew  of 
old,  not  looking  very  different  from  what  Gregor  had 
always  seen  her.  Just  now,  in  fact,  there  was  an 
unusual  shade  of  satisfaction  on  her  face,  for  the 
bargain  with  Sylvester  Robak  had  been  distinctly 
favourable.  In  the  crises  of  life  it  is  a  great  thing 
to  have  a  quantity  of  small  habits  to  fall  back  upon, 
and  which  to  our  petty  natures  often  do  better 
service  than  any  more  exalted  source  of  consolation  ; 
and  the  necessity  of  keeping  the  storeroom  in  order, 
and  of  seeing  that  the  apples  did  not  freeze,  nor  the 
preserved  plums  grow  mouldy,  had  been  so  soothing 
an  occupation  as  to  avert  anything  like  a  breakdown 
of  the  nerves.  Instead  of  beginning  to  cry,  as 
Hania  had  done  at  sight  of  Gregor,  her  face  showed 
as  much  pleasure  as  it  was  capable  of. 


126        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  Gregor  Petrow !  Well,  it  is  time  you  should 
think  of  us  !  I  saw  you  getting  out  of  the  sledge, 
but  I  was  not  quite  done  with  Sylvester  Robak. 
The  Pope  leaves  everything  to  me  now.  You  have 
not  seen  him  yet  ?  You  will  find  him  very  much 
changed.' 

Looking  closely  at  her  Gregor  saw  that  she  too 
was  rather  changed,  after  all ;  the  wrinkles  on  her 
brown  leather  face  had  deepened,  and  also  there  was 
an  additional  touch  of  acidity  in  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  even  though  she  obviously  meant  to  be 
amiable. 

'  I  have  not  seen  him  yet,  but  I  want  to  speak  to 
him  urgently.' 

'  Then  come  this  way.'  She  led  him  a  few  steps 
down  the  passage,  and  then  stood  still  again. 

'  What  do  people  say  about  Wasia's  death  ? '  she 
asked,  looking  at  him  keenly. 

He  gave  a  start,  almost  as  though  the  word  had 
been  a  bodily  stab. 

'  I  have  heard  nothing.  I  have  been  at  Bolotyn 
all  the  time.' 

'  Ah,  yes,  and  that  is  too  far  away  for  them  to 
talk  ;  they  do  not  know  us  there.  But  here,  you 
cannot  imagine  what  nonsense  has  been  chattered, 
and  yet  it  is  all  so  plain.  The  doctor  himself 
attested  an  inflammation  of  the  intestines.  That 
rash  that  we  thought  so  little  of  meant  mischief 
from  the  first,  and  it  evidently  was  driven  back  too 
abruptly.  Ah,  my  poor  Wasia !  She  always  was 
over  anxious  about  her  face  ! ' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         127 

'  Will  you  take  me  to  the  Pope,  please  ? '  said 
Gregor,  feeling  that  he  could  bear  no  more  of 
this. 

'  Of  course,  of  course.  Come  this  way.'  She  led 
the  way  through  the  dining-room  to  the  Pope's 
private  room,  then  stopped  again  with  her  fingers  on 
the  door-handle. 

'  You  will  find  him  changed — changed  ! '  she 
repeated,  as  she  stood  back  to  let  him  pass ;  evi- 
dently he  was  to  go  in  alone. 

The  falling  snowflakes  wrapped  the  room  in  a  sort 
of  white  twilight.  The  Pope  was  sitting  where 
Gregor  had  always  found  him  sitting — in  front  of 
the  ink-spotted  table ;  but,  though  there  was  paper 
before  him  and  a  pipe  beside  him,  he  was  neither 
writing  nor  smoking  ;  the  paper  was  blank,  and  the 
pipe  empty  and  cold,  as  Gregor  could  see,  as  he 
drew  nearer.  He  sat  with  his  back  to  the  door,  and 
even  before  he  turned,  Gregor  was  struck  by  the 
silver  shine  upon  his  black  head.  For  a  moment  he 
took  it  to  be  the  reflection  of  the  snow  outside,  but 
soon  he  convinced  himself  that  the  effect  was  solely 
due  to  an  almost  incredible  increase  of  white  hairs 
within  these  last  few  weeks. 

'Father  Nikodem/  began  Gregor,  wondering  at 
the  immobility  of  the  massive  figure.  Then  Father 
Nikodem  turned,  and  Gregor  could  see  the  change 
more  plainly.  It  was  not  only  that  he  had  aged, 
but  that  his  cheeks  had  grown  baggier,  his  mouth 
looser  than  it  used  to  be,  and  that  the  clear  brown 
pallor  of  his  dark  face  had  taken  on  a  tinge  of 


128        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

yellow.  The  round  black  eyes  that  had  been  wont 
to  gaze  so  merrily  into  the  world,  looked  now  dully 
at  the  entering  figure,  presently  to  kindle  into 
undisguised  astonishment. 

'  Gregor  Petrow ! '  he  said,  almost  incredulously. 
'  Is  that  you  ?  What  can  you  be  looking  for  here  ?  ' 

He  was  staring  at  Gregor  now,  his  big  eyes 
opened  to  their  full,  the  black  shadows  about  them, 
that  were  like  smears  of  charcoal,  startlingly  con- 
spicuous— and  without  any  signs  of  welcoming  the 
guest. 

'  Do  you  not  know,'  he  added  fretfully,  as  Gregor 
— too  painfully  moved  to  speak  at  once — remained 
silent, '  that  the  best  kindness  you  can  do  me  is  to 
leave  me  alone  ? ' 

'  I  would  not  disturb  you  if  it  were  not  urgent,  and 
I  will  not  detain  you  long.  I  have  come  with  a 
serious  purpose.' 

Then,  in  a  set  and  prim  little  speech,  which  he  had 
arranged  in  his  head  as  he  came  along  in  the  sledge, 
Gregor  made  his  request  for  Zenobia's  hand.  The 
tremors  which  had  assailed  him,  when  four  years  ago 
in  this  same  room  he  had  made  this  same  request, 
were  not  with  him  to-day.  To-day,  as  then,  he  was 
prepared  for  a  rejection,  but  what  he  was  doing 
to-day  was  a  duty,  and  whether  rejected  or  not  the 
duty  would  be  fulfilled. 

At  the  first  words  Father  Nikodem  had  begun 
visibly  to  tremble.  His  eyes  grew  wider,  left 
Gregor's  face,  and  swerved  uncertainly  round  the 
room,  while  his  big  hands,  which  were  like  the  hands 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         129 

of  an  overgrown  child,  played  with  the  papers  before 
him,  nervously  and  restlessly  bending  them  into 
dogs'  ears. 

'  You  are  sure/  he  said,  breathing  heavily  as 
Gregor  ceased,  '  you  would  take  her  ?  Have  you 
considered  everything  ? ' 

'  If  she  will  take  me,  she  will  do  more  to  me  than 
I  deserve.' 

The  Pope  looked  at  him  almost  wildly  for  a 
moment,  and  his  lips  twitched  as  though  he  were 
beginning  to  speak,  but  instead  of  saying  anything 
he  noisily  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  began  pacing 
about  over  the  well-worn  strips  of  carpet  that  crossed 
and  re-crossed  the  painted  floor. 

As  he  watched  him  Gregor  felt  the  astonishment 
growing  within  him.  This  was  something  more 
than  the  change  which  the  Popadia  had  prepared 
him  for.  He  had  not  looked  for  so  complete  a 
breakdown  as  this,  and,  despite  his  own  immense 
grief,  he  wondered  at  it ;  for  it  was  not  only  grief 
that  he  read  on  the  face  of  the  sorrowing  father, 
it  was  something  beyond  grief,  and  apart  from 
grief,  an  unquietness  of  movement  that  was  yet  not 
vivacity,  and  an  uncertainty  of  the  gaze  which 
was  wont  to  be  so  aggressively  open.  The  altera- 
tion was  one  to  shock  him  even  in  his  religious 
feelings,  for  had  not  Father  Nikodem  the  same 
sources  of  consolation  that  stood  open  to  himself, 
and  could  he  not  dip  into  them  more  deeply,  since 
he  was  able  to  stand  at  the  altar?  How  he  could 
fail  so  entirely  in  that  Christian  resignation,  which  he 
I 


1 30        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

had  heard  him  so  often  commend,  was  a  riddle  to 
Gregor. 

'  Do  you  give  your  consent  ? '  he  asked,  after  a 
minute,  thinking  that  in  some  new  paroxysm  of 
grief  the  Pope  had  forgotten  the  subject  in  hand. 
But  Father  Nikodem  only  ran  his  hand  through  his 
thick  hair,  giving  him  another  doubtful  look  the 
while,  and  obviously  hesitating.  This  too  astonished 
Gregor.  However  doubtful  he  might  feel  as  to  the 
daughter's  decision,  he  had  not  expected  any  resist- 
ance on  the  part  of  the  father. 

'  Am  I  to  go  away  ? '  he  asked,  after  another  long 
silence. 

'  You  have  not  considered — you  have  not  con- 
sidered,' was  the  Pope's  agitated  answer.  '  You  have 
not  thought  of  how  people  will  talk  of  this  ! ' 

'  I  suppose  they  will  talk,'  said  Gregor  resignedly. 
'  When  a  man  goes  backwards  and  forwards  between 
two  sisters  he  must  expect  to  be  mocked  at,  but  so 
long  as  Zenobia  can  bear  it,  I  know  that  I  can.  She 
must  decide.' 

'  Yes,  you  are  right,  she  must  decide,'  said  the 
Pope,  standing  abruptly  still.  'She  alone  can  say 
whether  this  is  to  be  ;  I  will  bring  her  to  you.' 

He  had  stopped  close  beside  the  door,  and  now, 
without  looking  again  at  Gregor,  he  went  out. 

Gregor  walked  to  the  window  and  stared  out  into 
the  snow,  trying — without  quite  knowing  his  own 
intention — to  pierce  the  falling  veil,  and  catch  the 
outline  of  the  little  humpbacked  brown  church  under 
whose  shadow  he  knew  that  Wasylya  lay.  Although 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         131 

he  was  waiting  for  Zenobia,  it  was  of  Wasylya  alone 
that  he  thought. 

When  the  door  opened  again  he  had  to  rouse 
himself  with  an  effort  to  the  recollection  of  what  he 
was  here  for. 

Zenobia,  in  her  black  mourning  dress,  came  in  be- 
hind her  father.  By  the  start  she  gave  Gregor  could 
see  that  she  had  not  been  prepared  for  his  presence. 

'  Here  is  Gregor  Petrow,'  said  the  Pope,  speaking 
more  firmly  than  a  minute  ago,  and  keeping  his  eyes 
upon  his  daughter.  '  He  has  come  to  ask  you  whether 
— after  all  that  has  happened — you  can  still  consent 
to  become  his  wife  ?  Answer  him  yourself,  Zenia ; 
you  must  know  whether  you  can  say  yes.' 

The  blood  rushed  suddenly  to  Zenobia's  face,  as 
with  one  hand  she  took  hold  of  the  back  of  the  chair 
beside  her,  putting  out  the  other  before  her  as  though 
to  push  something  invisible  from  her. 

'His  wife?'  she  said  quickly.  '  No,  no,  I  cannot 
be  that ;  that  could  never  be ! ' 

'You  mean  that  you  cannot  forgive  me  for  my 
want  of  faith  ? '  asked  Gregor,  without  excitement. 

'  There  was  no  want  of  faith.  I  am  not  speaking 
of  you.'  She  put  up  her  hand  to  her  forehead  and 
pressed  it  as  though  it  hurt  her.  Her  father's  eyes 
were  still  upon  her  face,  closely  watching,  with  a 
strain  of  anxiety  which  Gregor  vaguely  noticed,  with- 
out understanding.  All  that  struck  him  was  that 
that  scrutinising  gaze  might  well  confuse  Zenobia  at 
such  a  moment. 

'Would  you  let  me  speak  to  her  alone?'  he  asked, 


1 32         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

looking  at  Father  Nikodem,  and  without  a  word  the 
Pope  turned  and  left  the  room. 

'  Zenobia,'  said  Gregor,  and  for  the  first  time  to-day 
his  voice  shook  a  little.  '  Think  again  before  you 
send  me  away.  You  have  every  reason  to  spurn  me, 
but  think  again !  I  am  a  very  unhappy  ma/i ;  my 
life  is  in  ruins,  and  you  can  help  me  to  build  it  up 
again.' 

'  Are  you  sure  that  /can  help  you  ? '  asked  Zenobia, 
looking  at  him  steadily  now.  '  Is  it  true  that  you 
really  believe  in  me  so  far?  Are  you  afraid — are 
you  afraid  of — nothing  ?  ' 

Her  gaze  seemed  to  be  boring  into  his,  intent  on 
piercing  to  the  truth. 

4  Afraid  only  of  not  deserving  your  generosity,'  he 
said,  openly  returning  her  look. 

She  withdrew  her  eyes,  apparently  satisfied  with 
what  she  had  read  in  his.  The  next  moment  a  change 
came  over  her  face. 

'  But  you  do  not  love  me,  Gregor  Petrow,'  she  said 
bitterly.  '  You  want  to  marry  me  only  because  you 
owe  my  father  money.' 

His  sense  of  guilt  towards  her  was  too  great  to 
let  him  dare  denial. 

'  I  have  loved  once,'  he  answered  wearily,  '  and  I 
do  not  know  whether  one  can  love  twice.  I  have 
told  you  why  I  want  to  marry  you  ;  because  my 
life  is  broken,  and  because,  if  you  have  ever  loved 
me  a  little,  you  may  help  me  to  mend  it.' 

Over  her  face  there  came  a  second  change,  far 
more  swift,  far  more  intense  than  the  first. 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         133 

'  A  little !  Oh,  Gregor,  I  have  never  loved  you 
a  little !  I  have  loved  you  much.  Oh,  God  knows, 
how  far  too  much !  Yes,  I  will  help  you  to  mend 
your  life.  Take  me,  Gregor,  for  I  am  yours — I  have 
always  been  yours  ! ' 

And,  making  two  steps  forward,  to  Gregor's  amaze- 
ment and  consternation  she  fell  at  his  feet,  with  hands 
that  clutched  at  the  hem  of  his  soutane,  and  a  face 
on  which  tenderness  and  passion  were  righting  for 
the  upper  hand,  turned  up  to  his. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

LITTLE  by  little  after  his  marriage — or,  more 
properly  speaking,  after  his  ordination  —  a 
certain  measure  of  quiet  came  back  to  Gregor. 
Piece  by  piece  he  found  again  those  reasons  of 
attraction  towards  his  vocation,  which  for  a  time  he 
had  so  completely  lost  sight  of  that  he  had  thought 
them  swept  away  from  him  for  ever.  His  first  Mass, 
the  first  confession  he  heard,  the  first  dying  man 
to  whom  he  carried  the  viaticum,  the  first  child  on 
whose  head  he  poured  the  baptismal  water — each  of 
these  brought  to  him  not  only  a  moment  of  supreme 
solemnity,  but  dazzling  revelations  of  the  sublimity 
of  his  office.  Some  of  the  same  naive  astonishment 
which  the  schoolmaster  had  felt  on  seeing  himself 
obeyed  now  came  over  the  priest,  on  realising  that 
his  word  was  actually  able  to  bring  comfort  and  to 
absolve  sin. 

Together  with  this  feeling  of  wonder  came  that  of 
gratitude  towards  the  God  who  had  made  him  His 
instrument,  and  the  renewed  resolve  to  be  worthy 
of  his  trust.  He  would  keep  his  sacerdotal  robe  as 
unspotted  as  it  was  humanly  possible  to  keep  it ; 
he  would  not  spare  himself,  nor  count  fatigues,  but 


134 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         135 

would — with  the  help  of  Heaven — become  such  a 
priest  as  there  had  never  been  before.  A  holy  hunger 
for  all  these  souls  under  his  charge  had  come  over 
him,  on  the  very  first  occasion  when  he  stood  on  the 
steps  of  the  altar  and  overlooked  the  tightly  packed 
village  church,  in  which  he  saw  old  faces  and  young 
faces,  the  sunken  eyes  of  old  men,  and  the  limpid 
eyes  of  little  children  all  turned  expectantly  towards 
him.  Why  should  even  one  of  these  be  lost  ?  And 
with  this  new  zeal  upon  him  he  threw  himself  into 
his  work,  glad  of  the  enthusiasm  which  had  come 
back  to  life,  and  careful  not  to  analyse  his  own  senti- 
ments too  closely,  lest  perhaps  he  should  discover 
that  the  zeal  was  not  zeal  alone,  but  that  inextricably 
mixed  with  it  was  the  desire  to  kill  thought.  In 
these  early  times  he  committed  the  usual  fault  of 
zealots  by  losing  sight  of  the  fact  that  man  has 
a  body  as  well  as  a  soul.  If  he  did  not  break  down 
physically  in  the  first  months  after  his  ordination,  it 
was  only  because  Zenobia  was  there  to  persuade  him 
to  eat  at  the  necessary  times,  and  to  relieve  him  of 
the  fatigue  of  many  of  his  self-imposed  sick  visits. 
So  entirely  did  she  fit  into  his  new  scheme  of  life, 
that  after  a  few  weeks  he  already  seemed  to  himself 
to  have  been  married  for  years,  for  Zenobia  had  none 
of  the  exactions  or  obtrusiveness  of  a  young  wife, 
while  her  eminently  domestic  habits  saved  him  all 
petty  household  troubles.  Independent  though  he 
was  of  material  comforts,  it  was  impossible  not  to 
recognise  the  advantage  of  having  his  meals  served 
punctually,  and  of  finding  his  linen  duly  mended. 


136         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Also,  although  not  given  to  much  talking,  there  came 
moments  when  to  speak  of  his  hopes,  his  plans,  his  dis- 
appointments— and  they  were  not  few — became  almost 
a  necessity,  and  Zenobia  was  above  all  a  good  listener. 
Not  that  she  could  entirely  grasp  his  aspirations, 
nor  even  pretended  to  do  so.  Brought  up  as  she  had 
been,  in  the  peculiarly  exclusive  atmosphere  of  a 
Pope's  household,  the  popular  standard  for  a  priest 
had  been  too  intimately  intertwined  with  early  habit 
to  be  easily  loosened.  Nor  was  her  imagination 
readily  fired,  nor  her  spirit  quick  to  take  new  impres- 
sions. That  slight  suggestion  of  heaviness  which 
prevented  her  regular  face  from  being  beautiful  was 
to  be  found,  not  only  in  her  bodily  movements  but 
also  in  her  mental  ones.  If  she  listened  patiently 
and  even  sympathetically  to  Gregor's  talk  about  the 
good  he  meant  to  do  in  his  parish,  it  was  not  so 
much  because  she  appreciated  these  dreams  as  be- 
cause she  loved  the  man  who  dreamed  them.  If 
she  took  his  place  beside  a  sick-bed  it  was  in  order 
to  spare  the  health  which  was  to  her  more  precious 
than  her  own,  rather  than  because  she  quite  acknow- 
ledged the  necessity  of  the  action.  All  these  things 
seemed  to  her  not  so  much  good  in  themselves,  as 
good  because  it  was  Gregor  who  did  them.  Where 
comprehension  failed,  her  blind  faith  stepped  in,  as  is 
almost  always  the  case  with  women  in  whom  instinct 
preponderates  over  intellect.  Sometimes  this  very 
instinct  put  her  on  the  track  of  an  idea  which  had 
escaped  him. 

'  I  think  you  frighten  them,'  she  said  once,  when 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         137 

Gregor  had  been  deeply  vexed  at  discovering  that 
one  of  his  parishioners,  on  the  eve  of  his  wedding, 
had  preferred  to  make  the  obligatory  confession  in 
a  neighbouring  parish. 

'/  frighten  them  ?  '  echoed  Gregor,  wide-eyed  with 
astonishment,  for  he  could  not  conceive  himself  as 
inspiring  the  sentiment  of  fear.  '  Have  I  done  them 
any  harm  ? ' 

'  No,  but  you  do  them  so  much  good  that  they 
don't  know  how  to  explain  it.  They  think  there 
must  be  something  else  behind.  They  tell  each 
other — I  heard  it  from  Jusia — that  you  look  so  like 
a  saint  that  they  are  afraid  to  shock  you  with  their 
confessions.' 

'  Strange  ! '  said  Gregor,  sinking  into  deep  thought. 

These  calm  talks  with  Zenobia,  the  almost 
maternal  solicitude  with  which  he  felt  himself 
surrounded,  all  tended  to  give  him  back  his  hold  on 
life.  The  one  disturbing  element  in  his  intercourse 
with  her  was  the  thing  which  to  most  men  would 
have  been  most  welcome — the  consciousness  of  her 
love  for  him,  or  rather  of  its  depth  and  passion.  At 
the  moment  when,  in  her  father's  room,  she  had 
fallen  at  his  feet  and  stretched  yearning  hands 
towards  him,  he  had  got  his  first  startled  glimpse  of 
that  depth,  and  had  recoiled  as  a  man  recoils  before 
an  abyss,  hitherto  unsuspected,  which  he  suddenly 
discovers  at  his  feet,  and  which  merely  to  look  into 
entails  giddiness — for  if  she  now  loved  him  thus  it 
meant  that  she  had  loved  him  thus  all  these  four 
years,  and  if  she  rejoiced  now  so  unboundedly  it 


138        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

meant  that  she  had  mourned — more  than  mourned, 
that  she  had  despaired — within  these  last  weeks. 
4  My  God,  what  she  must  have  suffered  ! '  was  the 
thought  which  had  come  to  him  disturbingly  in  that 
moment,  and  which  returned  to  him  each  time  that 
he  caught  another  glimpse  of  the  abyss.  Not  only 
did  the  discovery  heighten  his  sense  of  guilt  towards 
her,  but  he  did  not  want  to  be  loved  in  this  way,  in 
this  purely  human  manner, — it  did  not  fit  into  his 
plan  of  life.  What  he  wanted  in  her  was  not  the 
passionately  adoring  wife,  but  a  helpmeet  in  his 
work.  Probably  it  was  again  Zenobia's  instinct 
which  turned  her  so  rapidly  into  the  outwardly  sober 
and  even  placid  wife.  Yet,  despite  herself,  there 
came  moments  when  the  truth  looked  out  of  her 
eyes  and  stabbed  Gregor's  conscience,  as  happened 
on  the  January  day  on  which  the  'Jordan  '  feast  was 
celebrated,  and  on  which  Gregor  had,  for  the  first 
time,  gone  through  the  ceremony  of  blessing  the 
water.  Though  the  winter  was  mild  there  had  been 
a  sharp  frost  lately  which  had  yielded  splendid 
blocks  of  ice,  wherewith  to  build  up  the  cross  which 
stood  on  the  river  bank.  All  the  village,  armed  with 
pots  and  jugs  wherewith  to  bring  home  some  of  the 
blest  water,  had  crowded  down  to  assist  at  the 
ceremony.  Gregor  was  rather  vexed  with  Zenobia 
because  she  declined  to  be  of  the  congregation. 

'  Are  you  afraid  of  the  cold  ? '  he  asked.  '  You 
have  got  your  new  fur.' 

'  No,  it  is  not  the  cold,  but  the  people.  The  whole 
village  will  be  there.' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         139 

'  And  why  not  you  ?  ' 

'  I  do  not  like  to  go  where  there  are  so  many 
people,'  said  Zenobia,  with  something  like  ill-humour 
in  her  voice. 

It  had  struck  him  more  than  once  that  she  shrank 
from  going  anywhere  in  public,  and  avoided  even 
their  neighbours  in  a  way  that  almost  smacked  of 
misanthropy,  but  he  had  never  thought  of  looking 
for  causes,  and  to-day  he  had  no  time  for  argument. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  that — the  water  having 
been  blessed — and  while  men  and  women  were 
crowding  to  the  edge  of  the  ice  to  dip  in  their  pots, 
that  Gregor,  in  his  haste  to  make  way  for  them, 
slipped  on  the  smooth  surface  and  fell  heavily  upon 
one  side.  There  was  no  bone  broken,  as  the  sub- 
sequent examination  proved,  but  the  pain  in  his 
knee  was  so  great  that  he  could  not  put  his  foot  to 
the  ground,  and  never  would  he  forget  Zenobia's 
face  when  they  stopped  before  the  door  with  the 
primitive  stretcher  on  which  he  lay.  It  was  one  of 
those  rare  moments  when  her  eyes,  opened  to  their 
full,  revealed  their  whole  size,  and  the  whole  of  their 
dark  depth ;  and,  reading  the  expression  of  anguish 
about  her  drawn  mouth,  he  once  again  said  to  him- 
self, '  What  she  must  have  suffered  !  My  God,  what 
she  must  have  suffered  ! ' 

Against  his  will  he  was  forced  to  imagine  the 
different  phases  of  torment  through  which  she  must 
inevitably  have  passed,  and  against  his  will — by  a 
mere  logical  deduction — came  the  question  of  what 
must  have  been  her  feelings  towards  her  sister  who 


1 40        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

had  supplanted  her :  but  that  way  he  did  not  dare 
to  look,  for  fear  of  imperilling  this  so  painfully 
acquired  peace. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  '  Jordan '  feast  that 
Zenobia  told  Gregor  of  a  new  hope  in  her  life,  and 
that  he  felt  his  heart  leap  up  on  an  impulse  for  which 
he  immediately  rebuked  himself  as  being  too  purely 
human.  But,  chasten  his  nature  as  he  would,  a 
warm,  infinitely  soft  satisfaction  remained.  A  child 
to  complete  the  family  circle,  and  to  lead  up  in  the 
right  way,  seemed  indeed  more  blessing  than  he 
deserved.  Life  had  obviously  become  possible  again. 
A  new  bond  drew  him  to  his  companion  ;  more  than 
hitherto  did  it  become  possible  to  share  his  thoughts 
with  her.  Soon  everything  was  open  between  them 
— everything  with  one  exception,  for  there  was  one 
name  which  neither  of  them  had  pronounced  since 
the  events  of  last  autumn,  one  locked  chamber  in 
the  far  back  of  each  of  their  hearts  which  each  felt 
must  not  be  unlocked  at  the  price  of  their  present 
happiness, — or  what  bore  the  appearance  of  happiness. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

IN  this  way,  and  without  other  incident  than 
Gregor's  slip  on  the  ice,  the  winter  passed.  It 
had  been  a  snowless,  and  only  at  moments  a  severe 
winter,  so  that  a  belated  snowfall,  when  already  the 
buds  were  swelling,  moved  every  one  with  an  almost 
indignant  surprise.  Gregor's  newly  built  sledge 
which  had  stood  idle  all  winter,  was  brought  out 
for  the  first — and  presumably  also  for  the  last — time 
on  the  latest  Sunday  of  March.  On  the  Saturday 
evening  he  had  said  to  Zenobla,  '  I  have  just  heard 
that  Father  Nikodem  is  at  Lussyatyn,  and  will  be 
there  to-morrow.  I  do  not  understand  why  he  has 
not  sent  us  word,  but  if  we  drive  in  to-morrow, 
directly  after  the  service,  we  are  sure  still  to  find  him, 
and  of  course  you  will  want  to  see  your  father.' 

To  his  astonishment  Zenobia  hesitated  in  her 
reply. 

'  I  do  not  know  whether  that  would  do  well,'  she 
said  uncertainly. 

'  But  do  you  not  want  to  see  him  ? ' 

'  How  do  I  know  whether  he  wants  to  see  me?' 
she  said,  with  a  shade  of  sullenness  on  her  face. 

'  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,'  Gregor  was  be- 

141 


142        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

ginning,  when  it  struck  him  that  if  Father  Nikodem 
had  been  very  anxious  to  see  his  daughter,  and  even 
if  his  time  had  been  too  short  for  the  drive  out  here, 
he  might  easily  have  sent  word  of  his  presence  in 
the  neighbouring  town.  The  look  of  puzzlement  on 
his  face  was  so  great  that  it  evidently  struck  Zenobia, 
who  hastened  to  say,  in  answer  to  his  thoughts — 

'  Probably  he  was  in  a  hurry — some  ecclesiastical 
business,  no  doubt.  Yes,  it  will  be  best  if  we  drive 
in  to-morrow.' 

It  was  for  this  that  the  sledge  had  been  brought 
out. 

Certainly  it  felt  far  more  like  Christmas  than 
Palm  Sunday — the  Roman  Catholic  Palm  Sunday — 
as  they  were  reminded  of  by  the  string  of  church- 
goers on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  with  the  strangely 
unseasonable-looking  palms  in  their  hands,  wading 
up  to  their  knees  in  snow,  or  standing  aside  to  make 
way  for  the  sledge.  The  more  economical  had  put 
their  handkerchiefs  over  their  Sunday  head-coverings, 
for  it  was  still  snowing  evenly  and  noiselessly  ;  the 
flakes  clung  to  their  moustaches,  their  eyelashes,  and 
to  the  blest  palms  in  their  hands.  The  effects  of 
this  long,  windless  fall  were  fantastically  visible  on 
all  sides,  having  filled  the  forty  minutes'  drive  with 
all  sorts  of  amusing  surprises.  The  pollard  willows 
in  the  hedgerows  had  their  round  heads  padded  with 
smooth  white  cushions  which,  in  conjunction  with 
the  naked  twigs  bristling  through  the  surface,  gave 
them  something  of  the  appearance  of  monstrous 
pincushions.  The  branches  of  the  wayside  bushes 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         143 

weighed  down  by  round,  square,  and  three-cornered 
patches  of  snow,  made  one  think  at  first  sight  that 
to-day  had  been  chosen  as  a  huge,  universal  washing 
day.  Every  hole  in  the  paling  had  been  patched  up 
with  snow,  every  horizontal  bar  had  a  second  bar  of 
snow  upon  it,  every  perpendicular  one  a  beautifully 
pointed  cap,  which  grew  higher  and  sharper  every 
minute.  Upon  every  tree  branch  that  was  only  a 
little  aslant  there  was  a  second  branch  of  snow, — 
even  the  tiniest  twig  had  its  white  duplicate.  All 
the  more  precious  are  these  wonderful  pranks  of  the 
departing  winter  that  he  who  sees  them  knows  that 
they  are  but  for  a  day,  or  at  most  two.  If  it  were 
Christmas  in  reality,  and  not  only  in  appearance, 
then  the  pincushions  might  endure  for  weeks,  and 
the  snow  handkerchiefs  hang  out  for  as  long,  but 
in  March  all  these  wintry  glories  can  but  turn  to 
slush  :  to  decorate  the  world  thus  profusely  is  but  a 
useless  piece  of  extravagance, — the  last  wild  revel 
which  the  Winter  King  is  holding  before  quitting 
the  field. 

Although  not  exactly  knowing  where  to  look  for 
Father  Nikodem,  it  seemed  to  Gregor  most  obvious 
to  inquire  for  him  at  the  house  of  the  parish  priest, 
Father  Urban  Jarewicz,  where  he  was  probably 
lodging.  When  Gregor  remarked  this  to  Zenobia, 
she  agreed  as  to  the  probability,  but  added  im- 
mediately, as  though  having  thought  over  the 
matter — 

'  While  you  go  there  I  can  be  seeing  about  these 
new  pots  for  the  kitchen  ;  they  are  very  urgent.' 


144         THE   SUPREME   CRIME 

'  But  will  it  not  appear  strange  if  you  do  not 
come  with  me  ?  You  have  not  met  them  since  our 
marriage,  and  yet  they  are  old  acquaintances.' 

Over  Zenobia's  face  there  came  again  the  sullen 
look  which  he  had  seen  there  yesterday  when  she 
had  spoken  of  her  father. 

'  I  do  not  care  to  pay  visits  now,'  she  said  shortly. 
'  I  would  rather  not  go,  and  it  may  be  that  my  father 
is  not  lodging  there.' 

'  We  shall  hear  that  immediately,'  answered  Gregor, 
who  at  that  moment  had  caught  sight  of  two  tall, 
angular  young  women  approaching  upon  the  strip 
of  humpbacked  pavement,  and  deeply  occupied  in 
keeping  their  fashionable  Sunday  frocks  out  of  the 
slush  to  which  here,  in  the  town,  the  snow  was  already 
turning.  '  There  are  the  Jarewicz  young  ladies ! ' 
and,  pulling  up  the  sledge,  he  handed  the  reins  to 
Zenobia,  and  quickly  descended,  in  order  to  inter- 
cept the  two  daughters  of  Father  Urban — the  same 
young  persons  whose  musical  accomplishments  had 
so  fired  poor  Wasylya's  ambition. 

Zenobia  had  made  a  gesture,  as  though  to  detain 
him,  but  it  had  been  too  late ;  and,  without  a  word, 
she  took  the  reins  and  sat  upright  and  rather  rigid, 
looking  straight  in  front  of  her. 

Melanya  and  Agata  Jarewicz  had  come  within 
half  a  dozen  paces  of  the  sledge  without  appearing 
to  perceive  it ;  then  Melanya  looked  up,  checked 
her  pace  for  a  moment,  and  saying  something  to  her 
sister,  they  unexpectedly  entered  the  shop  of  a  tin- 
smith, alongside. 


THE   SUPREME   CRIME         145 

Gregor  turned  towards  Zenobia  in  almost  nai've 
surprise. 

'  I  felt  so  certain  that  they  had  seen  us/  he  said, 
and  then  only  caught  sight  of  the  rigid  set  of  her 
features. 

'  They  did  see  us,'  said  Zenobia,  who  spoke  as 
though  she  were  choking. 

'  It  can't  be,'  he  asserted,  in  all  sincerity,  for  such 
an  incident  lay  out  of  the  circle,  not  only  of  his 
experience,  but  also  of  his  comprehension.  '  I  shall 
go  and  speak  to  them.' 

Again  she  made  a  movement  as  though  to  check 
him,  and  again  failed,  and  within  the  same  minute 
Gregor  was  entering  the  tinsmith's  shop,  where 
Melanya  and  Agata  were  looking  round  them  in 
an  extremely  leisurely  manner.  He  had  known 
these  angular  young  ladies  slightly  in  his  school- 
master days,  and  had  renewed  acquaintance  with 
them  since  becoming  a  clerical  neighbour  of  their 
father's.  From  the  first,  the  feeling  which  their 
fashionable  clothes,  their  assurance  of  manner,  as 
well  as  their  accomplishments  inspired  him,  had  been 
one  of  awe.  Distinctly  they  represented  a  new 
departure  in  those  clerical  manners  which,  until 
quite  recent  years,  were  universally  recognised  as 
rustic  to  the  point  of  boorishness — 'he  eats  like  a 
Pope,'  being  almost  synonymous  with  saying  '  like  a 
peasant ' ;  while  to  say  of  a  woman,  '  she  dresses  like 
a  Pope's  wife,'  was  equivalent  to  stigmatising  the 
unhappy  creature  for  ever  as  a  dowd.  But  Melanya 
and  Agata  Jarewicz  meant  to  change  all  that,  for  it 

K 


146        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

was  to  them  that  the  family  owed  its  present  reputa- 
tion. Father  Urban,  a  mild  and  conciliatory  old 
man,  whose  one  desire  was  to  be  at  peace  with  the 
world,  had  no  revolutionary  yearnings  of  his  own, 
but  had  long  ago  yielded  himself  up  into  the  hands 
of  the  enterprising  Melanya.  To  be  modern  and  up 
to  the  latest  dodges  of  civilisation  was  the  object  in 
life  which  the  two  sisters  had  set  before  themselves, 
and  although  they  made  some  funny  mistakes — such 
as  eating  with  their  gloves  on,  and  having  their 
calling  cards  printed  with  an  ornamental  border — 
on  the  whole  they  represented  a  welcome  sign  of 
progress,  in  the  social  sense  of  the  word.  Their 
assurance,  far  more  than  their  charms,  confirmed 
their  success  ;  for,  to  speak  truthfully,  both  these 
progressive  sisters  were  about  as  plain  as  it  is  pos- 
sible to  be  at  nineteen  and  twenty.  An  almost 
grotesque  formation  of  features  was  common  to  both  ; 
a  hanging  jaw,  which  sloped  so  sharply  downwards 
as  to  give  to  the  profile  something  horselike;  add  to 
this,  protuberant  lips,  and  long,  prominent  teeth  ; 
and  all  this  with  absolutely  nothing  but  a  moderately 
fresh  complexion  to  redeem  it.  For  imaginative 
people  it  was  painful  to  think  of  what  these  two 
faces  would  become  after  the  departure  of  that 
ephemeral  freshness,  and  from  the  merely  aesthetic 
point  of  view  both  Melanya  and  Agata  would  un- 
doubtedly be  wiser  to  depart  this  life  before  being 
reduced  to  depend  on  their  features  alone. 

As  Gregor  entered  the  tinsmith's  shop  he  could 
see  a  glance  exchanged,  and  it  seemed  to  him  to  be 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         147 

a  glance  of  mutual  consultation,  which  apparently 
resulted  in  his  favour,  for  immediately  Melanya's 
teeth  appeared  in  a  friendly  smile,  while  a  carefully 
gloved  hand  was  held  towards  him  at  the  latest 
fashionable  angle. 

'  Who  would  expect  you  here  in  such  weather, 
Panic  Petrow?'  she  murmured  in  the  best  social 
style. 

'  I  am  not  here  alone,'  said  Gregor,  lifting  his 
snow-covered  hat.  '  Zenia  is  with  me ;  she  is  in  the 
sledge  outside.' 

'  Is  she  indeed  ? '  said  both  sisters,  with  such  an 
absence  of  surprise  as  to  make  it  clear  that  they  had 
seen  her  in  the  street. 

'  I  wonder  she  does  not  find  it  cold,'  added  Agata, 
after  a  reflective  pause. 

'  We  came  in  to  inquire  after  Father  Nikodem  ; 
we  heard  he  was  here.  Can  you  tell  us  where  to 
find  him? ' 

'  He  was  here,  but  he  went  home  this  morning.' 

'  Without  sending  us  word  ! '  said  Gregor  unthink- 
ingly, and  with  astonishment  plainly  depicted  on  his 
face. 

Melanya  said  nothing  but  began  examining  a  tin 
pot  beside  her,  as  though  deeply  interested  in  its 
construction. 

'  Then  we  have  come  for  nothing ! '  he  added,  in  a 
tone  of  almost  childish  disappointment,  in  which  was 
also  mixed  a  little  anxiety  on  Zenobia's  behalf. 
Would  not  the  drive  home  again,  without  rest  and 
without  refreshment,  be  too  much  for  her  in  her 


i48        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

present  state  of  health  ?  But  it  could  not  come  to 
that.  All  that  he  knew  of  the  rules  of  hospitality 
forbade  him  to  believe  in  such  a  contingency. 

'  My  wife  would  be  very  glad  to  salute  you,'  he 
said,  rather  helplessly,  getting  no  answer. 

'  We  also  shall  be  pleased  to  see  her,'  said  Melanya, 
becoming  all  at  once  immensely  polite,  and  after 
exchanging  another  glance,  and  apparently  after  a 
moment  of  hesitation,  the  two  sisters  stepped 
gingerly  out  on  to  the  slushy  pavement. 

Zenobia  was  still  sitting  very  upright  in  the  sledge, 
with  the  reins  in  her  hands,  and  the  snowflakes  fall- 
ing now  more  thinly  about  her. 

'  Good  day,'  said  Melanya,  standing  still  on  the 
edge  of  the  pavement,  but  keeping  her  hands  in  her 
muff — indeed  it  would  have  been  rather  far  to  stretch 
across  to  the  sledge.  'You  have  missed  Father 
Nikodem  by  only  a  few  hours ;  he  went  home  this 
morning.' 

'  I  thought  we  should  not  see  him,'  said  Zenobia, 
returning  the  sisters'  salutation,  rather  haughtily,  as 
it  seemed  to  Gregor.  And  then  for  a  moment 
nobody  said  anything,  while  he  stood  uncomfortably 
beside  the  sledge,  and  wondered  whether  there  really 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  resume  his  place  beside 
Zenobia.  Presently  Melanya  began  talking  again, 
but  it  was  only  about  the  extraordinarily  unseason- 
able weather.  Glancing  furtively  from  one  sister  to 
the  other  Gregor  could  see  that  both  pairs  of  eyes 
remained  fixed  on  Zenobia's  face  with  evident 
interest,  but  which  did  not  strike  him  as  a  friendly 


THE   SUPREME  CRIME         149 

interest,  and  above  all  with  a  sort  of  eager  curiosity 
which  he  could  not  explain,  as  one  looks  at  a  person 
who  is  remarkable  in  some  especial  way.  Quite 
suddenly  he  recognised  this  expression  as  one  which 
he  had  seen  on  the  faces  of  his  own  parishioners,  and 
that  too  when  they  were  looking  at  Zenobia, — and 
yet,  what  was  there  about  her  that  was  remarkable, 
or  that  made  her  worth  looking  at  with  this  sort  of 
half-fearful  interest  ?  He  himself  could  see  nothing. 
A  newly  married  woman  is  generally  more  stared  at 
than  another,  but  this  seemed  to  him  to  pass  the 
bounds  of  mere  idle  curiosity.  He  was  saying  this 
to  himself,  when  on  the  pavement,  at  a  few  paces 
off,  he  caught  sight  of  a  knot  of  people  likewise 
looking  at  the  sledge,  while  at  the  open  door  of  a 
Jewish  shop  a  bunch  of  hook-nosed,  ringleted  faces 
struck  his  eyes — and  these  too  were  looking  at 
Zenobia.  All  at  once  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
whole  street  had  its  eyes  turned  in  their  direction. 
So  irksome  was  the  sensation  becoming,  that  without 
any  further  remark  he  mounted  quickly  to  his  place, 
and  took  the  reins  from  Zenobia. 

'  If  they  want  us  they  will  stop  us  now.'  The 
thought  went  through  his  mind  as  he  settled  the  fur 
cover,  but  all  that  Melanya  said  as  she  stepped  back 
to  save  her  dress  from  being  splashed  was : 

'  It  must  be  charming  to  spin  over  the  snow  to- 
day. I  shall  certainly  have  the  sledge  out  this 
afternoon.' 

And  in  the  next  moment  already  the  bells  were 
jingling,  and  the  horse's  head  turned  homewards. 


150        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  Are  you  not  hungry  ? '  asked  Gregor,  turning  to 
his  wife. 

Into  Zenobia's  eyes  there  came  a  spark,  and  on  her 
dark  face  a  flame,  as  she  answered  : 

'  No,  I  am  not  hungry ;  do  not  trouble  about  me, 
Gregor.' 

'  I  thought  for  certain  that  they  would  ask  us  to 
stay.' 

'  I  did  not,'  said  Zenobia,  scarcely  unclosing  her 
lips,  and  keeping  her  teeth  together. 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  There  seemed  to 
be  something  here  which  he  did  not  understand, 
though  she  apparently  did. 


CHAPTER    XV 

EXACTLY  four  weeks  after  the  sledge  drive  to 
Lussyatyn,  Gregor  and  Zenobia  were  again  on 
the  same  road  ;  this  time  not  in  a  sledge  but  in  the 
little  light  cart  which  represented  their  summer 
equipage.  It  was  again  Palm  Sunday — the  Palm 
Sunday  of  the  Greek  Church,  and  consequently  their 
own — a  flower-decked  and  sun-gilded  Palm  Sunday, 
in  contradistinction  to  that  other  one  on  which  the 
world  had  seemed  to  lie  dead,  smothered  under  its 
counterpanes  of  snow.  Of  all  that  wealth  of  decora- 
tion, not  a  trace ;  the  same  branches  that  had  been 
white  with  flakes  were  now  white  again  with  blossoms  ; 
the  pollard  willows  were  wearing  green  veils  ;  the 
roadside  ditch,  then  blotted  out  of  existence,  had  got 
a  new  green  lining ;  not  even  on  the  mountain 
heights,  which  made  a  background  to  the  town,  was 
a  gleam  of  snow  to  be  seen. 

On  the  previous  evening,  when  a  message  had 
come  from  Father  Urban  Jarewicz,  there  had  been 
between  Gregor  and  Zenobia  an  exchange  of  words 
which  almost  amounted  to  a  dispute.  Father 
Urban,  whom  a  bad  chill  prevented  officiating  on 
Palm  Sunday,  had  called  upon  Gregor  to  replace 

151 


152        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

him ;  and  Gregor,  reflecting  that  the  smaller  parish 
had  better  remain  unserved  rather  than  the  larger, 
had  acquiesced.  The  message  likewise  comprised  an 
invitation  to  the  midday  meal,  as  was  indeed  un- 
avoidable under  the  circumstances. 

'  They  hope  to  see  you  too,'  he  said  to  Zenobia, 
after  reading  the  note. 

'  Let  them  hope,'  replied  Zenobia  drily. 

'  Have  you  taken  offence  at  their  coldness  last 
time?  As  for  that,  I  think  I  have  found  the  ex- 
planation.' 

'  Have  you  ? '  she  asked  quickly,  glancing  up  from 
the  sewing  she  was  busy  with,  and  seeming  to  hold 
her  breath. 

'  Yes  ;  do  you  know  who  I  think  is  the  cause  of  it  ? 
I  think  it  is  Hypolit.' 

'  Hypolit  ? ' 

4  Probably  they  are  angry  with  you  for  not  having 
married  him.' 

Zenobia's  sewing  dropped  into  her  lap,  as  she 
burst  out  laughing  more  heartily  than  Gregor  had 
ever  heard  her. 

'  Oh,  Gregor,  what  a  child  you  are  sometimes ! ' 
was  all  she  said. 

'But  is  it  not  true  that  he  wanted  to  marry 
you?' 

'  Quite  true,'  she  said,  without  a  shade  of  embar- 
rassment ;  '  but  it  was  he  who  wanted  it,  not  his 
sisters.  Their  dream  is  to  see  him  return  from 
Vienna  with  a  fashionable  Viennese  wife ;  somebody 
from  whom  they  could  get  hints  for  their  dresses 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         153 

and  their  manners.  I  was  always  far  too  dowdy  and 
old-fashioned  for  their  taste.' 

'  Oh,  well  then,  I  was  mistaken,'  said  Gregor, 
rather  crest-fallen  ;  '  and  probably  their  coldness 
dates  from  the  days  when  they  were  still  afraid  that 
you  would  marry  him.' 

'  It  is  indifferent  to  me  what  their  coldness  dates 
from.' 

'  Zenia,  this  is  not  quite  Christianlike.  They  may 
have  failed  in  charity,  but  this  message  proves  that 
they  are  ready  to  make  amends.' 

'This  message  proves  nothing,'  said  Zenobia 
obstinately  ;  '  or  at  most  it  proves  that  Father  Urban 
thinks  that  his  daughters  have  overdone  the  rude- 
ness. He  is  always  for  keeping  on  the  safe  side  with 
everybody ;  besides,  since  he  was  asking  a  service 
from  you  he  couldn't  help  throwing  in  the  invita- 
tion.' 

4  All  this  is  no  reason  to  refuse  it.  Zenia,  tell  me, 
what  is  it  that  makes  you  shrink  so  from  meeting 
people?  What  makes  you  hide  from  the  world,  as 
though  you  were  afraid  of  it  ?  ' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  Zenobia,  having  pricked  her  finger  at 
that  moment,  perhaps  because  she  had  started. 
Looking  up  she  saw  Gregor  in  front  of  her,  his  blue 
eyes  fixed  inquiringly  on  her  face. 

'  My  health,'  she  murmured,  staring  at  the  drop  of 
blood  which  had  fallen  on  the  piece  of  baby-linen  she 
was  busy  with. 

'  That  is  not  a  sufficient  reason.  Do  you  not  see 
that  you  make  yourself  peculiar  by  withdrawing 


154        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

from  your  neighbours  in  this  way?  That  it  will 
make  people  talk  ? ' 

'  Of  what  ? '  asked  Zenobia,  rather  faintly. 

'  Of  different  things  ;  for  instance,  of  the  other 
marriage  that  was  projected  for  you.  If  you  do  not 
go  to  the  Jarewiczs'  house  the  Jarewiczs  themselves 
may  think  that  it  is  because  you  are  afraid  of  meeting 
Hypolit.' 

For  several  moments  Zenobia  went  on  stitching 
so  assiduously  that  Gregor  could  see  nothing  but 
the  top  of  her  black  head,  with  the  smooth,  thick 
hair  which,  though  somewhat  coarse  in  texture,  was 
yet  beautiful  of  its  kind.  Then  she  glanced  up. 

'  Very  well,'  she  said,  more  quietly ;  '  perhaps  it 
is  better  if  I  go.  There  is  no  necessity  for  people 
talking  nonsense.' 

The  Jarewiczs  lived  in  a  new  house  which  obviously 
aspired  to  the  name  of  'villa,'  and  stood  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  but  Gregor  drove  straight  to  the 
church,  so  that  the  meeting  with  Melanya  and  Agata 
did  not  take  place  until  after  the  termination  of  the 
long  service.  The  expression  on  the  faces  of  the 
young  ladies  with  the  horse-like  profiles  (glorious 
to-day  in  brand-new  spring  costumes),  was  of  neces- 
sity more  amiable  than  it  had  been  four  Sundays 
back ;  but  even  to-day  cordiality  was  less  conspi- 
cuous than  that  sort  of  chilly  curiosity  which  had 
disturbed  Gregor  on  that  occasion. 

'  Papa  is  so  very  much  obliged  to  your  husband 
for  replacing  him,'  said  Melanya  to  Zenobia,  as — 
palms  in  hand — they  picked  their  way  along  the 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         155 

short  piece  of  road  which  divided  the  church  from 
the  priestly  dwelling.  The  Roman  Catholic  palms, 
or  rather  the  willow  twigs  which  represented  them, 
had  been  decorated  only  with  woolly  buds,  but 
those  of  the  Greek  Church  this  year  were  already 
green. 

'  It  is  so  very  kind  of  you  to  accompany  him  ;  we 
scarcely  hoped  that  you  would.' 

{ They  why  did  you  ask  me  ? '  said  Zenobia 
bluntly. 

'  Oh,  because  of  course  we  hoped.  But  we  had 
heard  that  you  don't  care  to  go  about  much.' 

'  It  is  wonderful  how  fond  people  are  of  talking 
of  each  other/  said  Zenobia,  with  a  scornful  tremor 
in  her  voice.  '  What  reason  should  I  have  for  not 
going  about  ?  I  am  quite  well.'  She  looked  at 
Melanya  as  though  demanding  a  reply,  and  so  hard 
and  straight  that,  despite  her  assurance,  the  other 
preferred  to  turn  away  her  eyes. 

'  Of  course  there  is  no  reason,'  said  Melanya, 
rather  lamely,  and  the  rest  of  the  way  was  passed 
in  silence. 

The  ambitious-looking  verandah,  with  the  white- 
washed pillars  and  the  plaster  stucco-work  over  the 
windows,  was  deserted,  but  in  the  would-be  modern 
drawing-room — where  the  tables  were  so  laden  with 
knick-knacks  that  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  find  a 
place  for  putting  down  a  hat,  where  photographs 
were  stuck  about  in  every  conceivable  and  incon- 
ceivable place,*  and  where  modern  magazines,  with 
paper-cutters  left  in  them  as  marks,  lay  about  osten- 


156         THE   SUPREME  CRIME 

tatiously — Father  Urban  (his  lean  throat  wrapped 
in  two  or  three  comforters)  awaited  his  guests.  He 
was  a  frail  and  sickly  looking  old  gentleman,  whose 
frailty  gave  him  an  air  of  refinement  which  he  might 
possibly  not  have  possessed  if  in  robust  health,  with 
lanky  white  hair,  small  features,  ravaged  by  ill-health, 
deep  shadows  under  his  pale  eyes,  and  a  slight  lisp 
in  his  voice,  caused  probably  by  missing  teeth. 
About  his  wistful  amiability  there  was  nothing  to  be 
discovered  of  the  veiled  hostility  in  his  daughters' 
bearing,  as  he  smilingly  welcomed  the  arrivals,  in- 
clining himself  profoundly  before  Zenobia,  and  ex- 
changing the  usual  kiss  of  brotherhood  with  Gregor. 
It  would  seem  even  as  though  he  were  anxious,  by  a 
double  dose  of  hospitality,  to  make  up  for  any 
remissness  on  their  part. 

'  A  gain,  nothing  but  a  gain  to  my  parishioners  ! ' 
he  laughed  mildly,  in  reply  to  Gregor's  condolences 
on  the  state  of  his  throat.  '  Your  voice  would  have 
been  at  all  times  a  good  exchange  for  mine ;  and  if 
I  had  been  able  to  sing  at  High  Mass  to-day  the 
preface  would  not  have  been  quite  the  same  thing, 
would  it,  my  son  ?  But  what  have  you  done  with 
Hypolit?'  he  asked,  looking  forlornly  about  him 
with  his  washed-out  blue  eyes. 

'  Is  Hypolit  here?'  put  in  Gregor  quickly,  glancing 
towards  Zenobia's  impassive  face. 

'  Yes,  on  his  Easter  holidays.  But  why  have  you 
not  brought  him  home  with  you  ?  ' 

'  We  have  not  even  seen  him,'  said  Melanya,  care- 
fully pulling  off  her  Suede  gloves. 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         157 

1  He  was  not  in  church  ? ' 

'No.' 

Father  Urban  sighed,  mournfully  settling  his 
comforters. 

'  Ah,  those  young  men,  those  young  men ! '  he 
said,  looking  almost  apologetically  at  Gregor. 
'  Nowadays  one  would  require  to  lead  them  to 
church  with  a  string.' 

'  Sunday  Mass  does  not  seem  to  be  the  fashion 
in  Vienna,'  put  in  Melanya,  likewise  with  a  touch  of 
apology  in  her  tone,  yet  not  with  complete  dis- 
pleasure, for  it  was  pleasant  to  be  able  to  talk  of 
Vienna  so  familiarly.  '  Men  of  science  are  so  very 
— inquiring,  you  know,  and  it  is  difficult  not  to  be 
influenced  by  the  ideas  around  one.' 

'  Very  liberal  ideas  ! '  sighed  the  Pope. 

'  Very  advanced  ones,'  corrected  his  daughter, 
smiling  uncertainly,  for  these  '  advanced '  ideas  of 
Hypolit  had  long  been  both  the  pride  and  the  terror 
of  his  family,  round  which,  despite  all  efforts,  the 
web  of  tradition  and  of  the  clerical  habit  of  thought 
still  clung. 

'  Well,  we  can't  keep  Pan  Petrow  waiting  for  his 
dinner  because  of  Hypolit's  ideas,  whatever  they  are,' 
said  Father  Urban,  with  his  wistful  smile.  '  I  know 
how  hungry  the  long  gospel  used  to  make  me  in  my 
young  days.  Is  the  soup  ready,  Melanya?' 

They  were  seated  at  table,  and  the  ivodki  glass 
had  just  passed  between  the  two  men,  when  steps 
were  again  heard  on  the  verandah,  and  Agata  said 
— '  There  he  is  ! ' 


158         THE  SUPREME   CRIME 

As  Hypolit  entered  the  room,  Gregor  saw  at  a 
glance  that,  despite  the  townish  cut  of  his  clothes, 
and  despite  the  growth  of  hair  upon  his  face,  he  was 
scarcely  changed  from  the  small,  dark,  keen-eyed 
youth  whom  he  had  known  in  his  schoolmaster 
days.  Insignificant  in  height  as  well  as  in  feature, 
Hypolit  might  have  stood  as  a  type  of  his  race 
better  than  either  of  his  lanky  sisters.  His  was  an 
essentially  Slav  face,  which,  like  all  Slav  faces,  had 
to  be  looked  at  full,  having  no  profile  to  speak  of — a 
low,  broad  forehead,  wide  nostrils,  flat  eyebrows, 
narrowly  slit  and  intensely  black  eyes,  the  lower 
part  of  the  face  running  sharply  to  a  point,  and  this 
almost  triangular  shape  of  countenance  as  though 
purposely  accentuated  by  the  close-cropped,  black 
whiskers  which  outlined  the  cheek  and  terminated 
in  an  aggressive-looking  little  beard,  as  sharply 
pointed  as  a  dagger  that  has  been  dipped  in  ink 
instead  of  in  blood.  The  most  provoking  thing 
about  Hypolit  was  a  habit  of  never  speaking 
seriously,  or  at  least  of  avoiding  the  appearance 
of  doing  so,  and  an  almost  melodramatically  mock- 
ing smile  which  he  always  had  ready  to  hand,  and 
which  was  used  both  on  suitable  and  unsuitable 
occasions.  His  cleverness  was  written  on  his  face, 
but  he  was  one  of  those  irritating  clever  people 
who  seem  to  think  that  cleverness  consists  solely 
in  saying  startling  things,  and  in  saying  them  as 
sarcastically  as  possible.  This  chronic  sarcasm,  in 
conjunction  with  the  pointed  beard  and  the  small- 
ness  of  his  stature,  suggested  a  sort  of  immature  evil 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         159 

spirit,  '  a  pocket  Mephistopheles,'  as  one  of  the  wits 
of  Lussyatyn  had  once  remarked.  But  despite  the 
shape  of  his  beard,  those  who  knew  Hypolit  best 
knew  that  he  was  not  quite  so  Mephistophelian  as 
he  wished  to  appear.  To  his  own  eminent  dis- 
pleasure, and  notwithstanding  the  hardening  process 
of  a  scientific  education,  his  innermost  feelings  still 
remained  of  the  violently  emotional  order  that  is 
common  to  his  nation,  nor  could  any  one  who  had 
seen  this  cynical  talker  turn  pale  at  the  news  that 
his  father  had  caught  another  chill,  or  that  one  of 
his  plain-faced  sisters  had  fallen  ill,  believe  that  he 
had  succeeded  in  shaking  himself  free  of  the  trammels 
of  family  affection. 

The  only  vacant  place  at  the  table  was  beside 
Zenobia's  chair,  and  although  Gregor  was  the  least 
curious  of  human  beings,  he  could  not  forbear  to 
look  on  with  a  certain  interest  while  the  miniature 
Mephisto  went  through  the  customary  salutations 
and  took  his  seat.  Not  that  jealousy  of  the  man 
who  had  wished  to  supplant  him  had  any  part  in 
his  feelings,  for  Gregor  was  not  in  love  with  his  wife, 
and  he  knew  that  his  wife  was  in  love  with  him, 
two  excellent  reasons  for  not  being  jealous,  but  that 
for  the  sake  of  his  future  peaceful  relations  with  the 
Jarewicz  family,  it  would  be  a  distinct  advantage  if 
Hypolit's  sentiment  had  died  a  natural  death.  And 
what  Gregor  saw  seemed  entirely  reassuring.  Watch 
as  he  would,  no  symptom  of  smouldering  passion 
was  to  be  detected,  or  at  any  rate  not  by  Gregor's 
perspicacity.  The  habitual  mocking  smile  on  the 


160        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

thin  lips  remained  unimpaired,  as  Hypolit  seated 
himself  beside  Zenobia,  and  the  black  eyes — button- 
like  in  their  smallness,  and  yet  keen  as  knives — 
even  while  passing  over  her  face,  showed  no  sign 
of  emotion.  His  conversation,  too,  could  not,  from 
Gregor's  point  of  view,  be  considered  suspicious, 
consisting  of  a  lightly  dished-up  hash  of  the  latest 
news  of  the  capital — fashionable,  political,  and 
scientific — flavoured  with  necessary  cynicisms  and 
sauced  with  the  unavoidable  suggestion  of  mockery, 
without  which  Hypolit  did  not  seem  able  to  open 
his  mouth,  for  this  young  man  had  a  way — even 
while  saying  such  harmless  things  as  that  the  sun 
was  shining — of  giving  the  impression  that  he  was 
laughing  at  somebody  or  other  in  the  process. 

'  No,  it  is  not  possible  that  he  can  feel  deeply,' 
said  the  naive  Gregor  to  himself,  as  he  listened  to 
the  somewhat  gruesome  description  which  Hypolit 
was  giving  of  his  experiences  in  a  Vienna  hospital. 
A  minute  before,  Father  Urban  had  been  struggling 
with  a  particularly  obdurate  roast  chicken,  which 
he  was  vainly  endeavouring  to  carve  in  the  correct 
fashion. 

'Hand  it  to  me,' said  Hypolit  laughingly.  'It's 
too  painfully  evident  that  you  have  not  studied 
anatomy.' 

'  Nothing  so  useful  as  anatomy,'  he  discoursed, 
while  with  his  small,  nervous  hands  he  deftly  severed 
the  appetising-looking  joints  ;  '  and  nothing  so  en- 
joyable either.  Whoever  has  not  stood  before  an 
operating-table  with  a  knife  in  his  hand  and  a  nice, 


THE   SUPREME  CRIME         161 

clean  corpse  before  him,  does  not  know  what  real 
happiness  means.' 

'  For  goodness  sake,  you  are  not  going  to  talk 
of  corpses  now  ? '  ejaculated  Melanya,  with  a  little 
gesture  of  deprecation. 

'Why  not?  Is  not  this  a  corpse  that  we  are 
about  to  feast  on  now?  and  is  it  not  insulting  to 
the  human  race  that  human  corpses  should  be  con- 
sidered a  less  agreeable  subject  of  conversation  than 
animal  ones? ' 

'  Human  corpses  are  corpses  of  people  who  have 
died  of  illness,  while  this  hen  has  been  struck  down 
in  the  very  flower  of  its  health.' 

'  Every  one  does  not  die  of  illness  ;  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  violent  death,'  smiled  Hypolit,  carving 
away  lustily  at  the  chicken.  '  Now,  I  remember  a 
man  who  was  brought  to  the  hospital  last  winter 
under  suspicion  of  having  been  poisoned  with 
arsenic.  There  were  two  parties  among  the  students 
— for  and  against  the  supposition  ;  and  if  you  had 
the  imagination  of  a  Puschkin  and  a  Victor  Hugo 
rolled  into  one,  you  could  not  conceive  the  intoxi- 
cating triumph  of  the  moment  which  proved  my 
party  to  be  right.  When  the  intestines ' 

There  was  an  elegant  little  scream  simultaneously 
from  Melanya  and  Agata. 

'  Oh,  Hypolit !     At  dinner!     How  can  you  ? ' 

Hypolit,  his  white  teeth  still  gleaming  under  his 
black  moustache,  looked  slowly  round  the  table, 
into  one  face  after  the  other. 

'  Is  the  subject  unpleasant  ? '  he  asked,  with 
L 


1 62         THE   SUPREME  CRIME 

well-feigned  surprise.  'Shall  we  leave  it  till  after 
dinner?' 

'  Leave  it  altogether,  rather,'  said  Melanya,  pass- 
ing her  napkin  before  her  face  as  though  to  flick 
away  something  disturbing ;  '  we  are  not  studying 
anatomy,  you  know.' 

'  As  this  mangled  animal  testifies  only  too  plainly. 
Can  I  dare  to  offer  you  this  mutilated  object  which 
was  once  a  wing?'  and  Hypolit  turned  laughingly 
to  Zenobia,  whose  passive  face  neither  responded  to 
the  pleasantry,  nor  seemed  to  indicate  that  she  had 
even  heard  the  remarks  which  had  just  been  made. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

WHEN  everything,  down  to  the  finger-glasses 
(which  were  the  latest  innovation  in  the 
household),  had  been  done  justice  to,  and  the  after- 
noon being  so  mild  that,  with  an  additional  com- 
forter, Father  Urban  thought  he  could  risk  sitting 
outside,  the  black  coffee  was  ordered  on  to  the 
verandah.  The  little  garden  which  divided  the 
house  from  the  road,  although  necessarily  devoted 
in  part  to  the  needs  of  the  kitchen,  and  not  abso- 
lutely safe  from  the  invasion  of  domestic  animals, 
showed  desperate  efforts  towards  modernity  in  the 
form  of  various  star-shaped  and  oblong  beds,  des- 
tined to  enlighten  Lussyatyn  in  the  mysteries  of 
carpet-gardening,  as  well  as  in  an  eruption  of  red, 
yellow  and  blue  glass  balls,  crowning  the  supports 
of  the  standard  roses.  The  buds  were  swelling 
on  all  sides,  and  the  newly  turned  earth  smelt 
good ;  a  peasant  cart  rattled  past  with  a  foal  scam- 
pering at  its  mother's  heels,  and  on  the  mountain 
side  opposite  the  solitary  birches  made  tender  green 
patches  among  the  sombreness  of  the  pine  forests. 
Gregor,  leaning  back  in  his  basket-chair,  listened 
in  agreeable  indolence  to  Father  Urban's  plans  for 

163 


1 64         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

pulling  down  the  wooden  church,  which  he  had  been 
taught  to  consider  a  blot  upon  his  parish,  and  build- 
ing a  brick  one  in  its  place.  Presently  he  heard 
himself  addressed  by  Melanya,  whose  conversation 
with  Zenobia  did  not  seem  to  be  getting  into  proper 
flow. 

'  You  are  musical,  I  know,  Pan  Petrow.  Shall  I 
sing  you  something?' 

'  If  you  will  be  so  kind.' 

1  One  of  our  new  duets/  added  Agata,  rising  with 
alacrity.  False  diffidence  was  not  among  the  sisters' 
defects. 

'  You  will  hear  perfectly  out  here,'  said  Father 
Urban,  who  wanted  to  go  on  talking  about  his 
church ;  and  Gregor,  who  had  made  a  movement  as 
though  to  rise,  sat  down  again. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  verandah  Zenobia  still 
reclined  in  her  basket-chair,  her  fine  and  somewhat 
severe  profile  plainly  outlined  against  the  pale  green 
of  the  garden  bushes,  the  black  of  her  hair  and  of 
the  mourning  dress  she  still  wore,  broken  boldly  by 
the  orange  stripe  on  the  shawl  which  she  had  thrown 
around  her  shoulders.  At  two  paces  from  her  stood 
Hypolit,  leaning  against  one  of  the  white  pillars  and 
blowing  his  cigarette  smoke  out  into  the  garden. 
As  the  first  chord  sounded  on  the  piano,  Zenobia 
rose  leisurely. 

'  I  think  that,  after  all,  I  shall  hear  better  inside/ 
she  said,  as  she  passed  in  through  the  open  door. 

Melanya  and  Agata  had  vigorous  voices,  moder- 
ately well  trained,  and  Gregor  would  have  preferred 


THE  SUPREME   CRIME  165 

to  listen  to  the  duets  undisturbed  by  the  necessity  of 
saying  '  Yes '  and  '  No '  to  Father  Urban's  rhapsodies 
on  his  future  church ;  it  was  therefore  a  distinct 
relief  when  somewhere  about  the  middle  of  the 
third  duet  the  old  priest  rose  hastily,  saying — 

'  I  am  quite  forgetting  myself;  it  is  time  for  me  to 
be  gargling  my  throat.' 

Gregor  put  his  head  back  against  the  seat  with 
something  like  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  duet  came 
presently  to  an  end  ;  there  was  the  sound  of  a  dis- 
cussion at  the  piano,  and  then  Melanya's  voice  was 
heard  alone.  What  was  that  ?  At  the  very  first 
note  Gregor  felt  himself  shaken  from  head  to  foot, 
while  his  hands  tightened  nervously  on  the  arms  of 
the  chair — for  this  was  the  song  of  the  '  Black  Eyes ' 
which  he  had  not  heard  since  last  autumn,  and  which 
he  had  then  heard  sung  in  her  voice  : 

'  I  walk  on  the  earth, 
I  sail  on  the  water, 
But  whether  sunshine  glitters, 
Whether  thunder  groans  and  lightnings  flash, 
Whether  the  stars  burn  in  the  sky, 
Whether  day,  whether  night  surrounds  me, 
Whether  in  the  dark,  whether  in  the  light, 
Always  with  me  and  before  me 
Those  black  eyes  shine.' 

With  one  hand  laid  over  his  face,  Gregor  listened. 
He  felt  as  though  it  were  impossible  not  to  groan 
aloud,  and  yet  feared  by  that  groan  to  lose  one  note 
of  the  exquisite  agony  of  the  song.  It  was  as 
though  a  hand  had  been  unexpectedly  laid  upon 
the  wound  that  was  not  yet  healed,  that  only  had 


1 66         THE   SUPREME   CRIME 

not  smarted  too  sensibly  because  it  had  not  been 
touched. 

'  Is  it  her  black  eyes  you  are  thinking  of,  or  the 
other  one's  ? ' 

The  words  were  spoken  at  a  few  paces  from  him, 
low  and  yet  painfully  distinct.  Gregor  looked  up 
with  a  start ;  he  had  quite  forgotten  that  he  was  not 
alone.  Over  there,  Hypolit  Jarewicz  still  leaned 
against  the  pillar,  and  the  cigarette  smoke  still  floated 
about  him  ;  from  out  of  the  bluish  clouds  the  dark 
face,  with  its  fatiguingly  brilliant  smile,  watched 
keenly,  giving  to  Gregor  the  impression  that  it  had 
watched  thus  for  several  minutes  past. 

'  What  do  you  mean  ? '  asked  Gregor,  in  sudden 
confusion,  like  a  culprit  detected. 

'  I  mean  that  they  both  had  black  eyes — Zenia  and 
Wasia — and  I  am  wondering  now  whether  it  was 
the  eyes  of  your  wife  you  were  thinking  of  just  now 
when  you  covered  your  face  with  your  hands  ? ' 

With  a  few  leisurely  steps  Hypolit  had  crossed 
the  verandah,  and  now  put  his  shoulder  against 
another  pillar — one  that  stood  straight  opposite 
to  Gregor's  chair.  He  closed  his  lips,  letting  the 
cigarette  smoke  issue  through  his  wide-slit  nostrils, 
and  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Gregor's  face.  The  look 
seemed  to  Gregor  so  aggressive  that  he  glanced 
aside. 

'  No  answer  ?  '  laughed  Hypolit  lightly  ;  '  that  is  as 
good  an  answer  as  any,  for  if  it  had  been  your  wife's 
eyes  that  you  were  thinking  of  you  would  have  told 
me  so  at  once.  But  seriously,  Gregor,  this  sinks  you 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         167 

in  my  estimation  considerably  ;  I  thought  better  of 
your  taste  than  that.  The  idea  of  comparing  the 
two  !  Do  you  remember  the  days  when  I  used  to 
astonish  Hlobaki  with  my  bicycle? — the  days  when 
you  still  hammered  A  B  Cs  into  infantile  heads. 
Well,  as  long  ago  as  that  I  was  jealous  of  you 
already,  so  what  do  you  suppose  I  am  now? 

Said  differently,  the  remark  would  have  been  some- 
thing different,  but  with  these  gleaming  teeth  so 
smilingly  displayed,  it  could  easily  pass  muster  as 
a  rather  audacious  pleasantry.  Yet  something  in  the 
expression  of  the  eyes  fixed  upon  him  disturbed 
Gregor  and  quite  confused  his  ideas  as  to  how  the 
remark  was  meant  to  be  regarded.  Always  awkward 
in  anything  like  a  bandying  of  words,  he  sat  helpless 
before  his  interlocutor,  handicapped  by  the  impos- 
sibility of  even  feigning  to  treat  lightly  a  subject 
which  seemed  to  himself  so  desperately  serious. 

'  If  she  could  have  loved  you,  I  would  have  left 
her  to  you,'  he  said  at  last,  with  an  earnestness  which 
made  an  almost  comical  contrast  to  the  other's 
flippancy. 

'  Would  you  really  ? '  Crushing  the  stump  of  his 
cigarette  against  the  pillar,  Hypolit  hurled  it  out 
into  the  garden  with  an  almost  vicious  gesture.  '  But 
how  could  she,  while  she  had  your  blue  eyes  to  dream 
of?  There  are  songs  about  blue  eyes  too,  are  there 
not  ?  More,  I  think,  than  about  black  ones.  Does 
she  sing  them,  I  wonder?  ' 

'  She  does  not  sing,'  answered  Gregor,  at  which 
Hypolit  uttered  a  fragment  of  an  exceedingly  un- 


1 68         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

musical  laugh,  and  began  to  roll  a  fresh  cigarette 
between  his  fingers. 

'  If  you  were  vain  you  would  teach  her.  But  I 
suppose  the  elements  of  vanity  do  not  exist  in  your 
nature ;  if  they  did,  you  ought  to  have  grown  at 
least  six  inches  since  last  autumn.  I  Ve  seen  some- 
thing of  the  world,  my  friend,  and  I  can  tell  you 
that  it  isn't  every  husband  who  is  purchased  at  such 
a  price.' 

Gregor  was  again  losing  the  thread  of  the  idea. 

4  A  price  ?  You  are  speaking  of  the  money  which 
Father  Nikodem  advanced  me?' 

'  I  wonder  if  you  are  as  simple  as  you  look  ?  No, 
I  am  not  speaking  of  the  money.' 

'  Of  what,  then?' 

'  To  buy  a  husband  with  money  is  nothing  so  very 
new,  but  to  be  thought  worthy  of  a  crime ! ' 

'  I  understand  nothing,'  said  Gregor,  opening  his 
blue  eyes  to  their  full. 

'Then  you  are  the  only  person  who  does  not. 
Tell  me — '  and  Hypolit  bent  suddenly  forward 
towards  Gregor — 'can  you  seriously  believe  that 
Wasia  died  a  natural  death  ?  ' 

Hypolit's  small,  intense  eyes  were  boring  into 
Gregor's  as  he  spoke,  and  for  a  moment  the  smile 
was  extinguished. 

Immovably,  and  almost  unblinkingly, Gregor  stared 
back  into  the  face  above  him,  without  feeling  the 
power  of  looking  away.  He  had  heard  the  words 
quite  plainly,  without  having  yet  begun  to  follow 
out  the  idea  they  suggested,  or  even  quite  grasped 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         169 

their  meaning.  If  he  felt  a  slight  shiver  pass  over 
the  skin  of  his  head  it  was  because  of  the  significance 
of  the  look  bent  upon  him,  rather  than  because  of 
the  words  he  had  heard.  With  his  upright  fair  hair, 
his  wide,  mild-looking  blue  eyes  and  his  rigid,  shaven 
face,  he  was,  at  this  moment,  almost  alarming  to 
look  at. 

It  was  only  when  Hypolit  changed  his  position 
that  he  felt  able  to  remove  his  own  eyes,  and  then 
also,  the  momentary  mental  paralysis  being  passed, 
something  which  could  only  be  comprehension 
flashed  through  his  brain.  All  he  was  conscious  of 
in  that  first  moment  was  a  wave  of  frank  indignation, 
sweeping  aside  even  all  feeling  of  pain. 

'It  is  that  you  accuse  her  of?'  he  cried,  rising 
almost  threateningly  to  his  feet. 

'  Ah,  no,'  said  Hypolit,  who  was  smiling  again, '  not 
I — alone.' 

Gregor  could  not  be  sure  whether  he  had  heard 
the  last  word  aright,  and  before  he  could  speak  again 
he  saw  Hypolit's  eyes  move  towards  the  open  door, 
at  which  Father  Urban  had  just  reappeared. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

DURING  the  drive  home,  Gregor,  though  rather 
silent,  was  more  than  usually  attentive  to  his 
wife,  for  he  belonged  in  general  to  the  order  of 
husbands  who  have  more  talent  for  being  waited 
upon  than  for  paying  the  usual  little  attentions.  It 
had  not  been  possible  to  have  another  word  alone 
with  Hypolit,  nor  to  express  the  honest  indignation 
with  which  the  base  insinuation,  uttered  so  flippantly, 
had  filled  him  ;  and  the  only  way  of  easing  his  feel- 
ings in  this  direction  was  by  settling  the  rug  about 
Zenobia's  feet,  and  by  asking  her  from  time  to  time 
whether  he  were  not  driving  too  fast  ?  Zenobia  her- 
self, agreeably  surprised  at  this  assiduity,  could  not 
forbear  remarking  upon  it. 

'  Really,  Gregor,  you  should  pay  less  attention  to 
me  and  more  to  the  horse,'  she  said,  with  a  happy 
side  glance,  '  or  else  we  might  end  by  finding  our- 
selves in  a  ditch.' 

The  hot  sense  of  indignation  was  still  upon  Gregor 
when  he  drew  up  before  their  little  rustic  dwelling 
at  Rubience,  and  so  full  were  his  thoughts  of  all  the 
things  that  he  ought  to  have  said  to  Hypolit,  of  all 
the  refutations  of  the  odious  calumny  which  already 

170 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         171 

had  occurred  to  him,  that  it  became  difficult  either 
to  keep  up  conversation,  or  to  settle  to  anything 
definite  ;  and  that,  with  Zenobia's  chronic  taciturnity, 
threatened  to  make  the  evening  drag  interminably- 
It  was  almost  a  deliverance  when,  declaring  herself 
tired  by  the  day's  outing,  she  withdrew  early,  for 
now,  at  least,  he  could  think  his  own  thoughts,  un- 
disturbed by  her  questioning  gaze,  which,  merely  to 
meet,  made  him  feel  vaguely  guilty,  as  though  only 
to  have  listened  to  those  words  of  accusation  were 
a  disloyalty  towards  her. 

With  a  deep  breath  he  rose,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  her,  and  began  to  pace  about  the  small,  low- 
ceilinged  room,  where  everything — from  the  modest 
furniture  and  white  lace  window-curtains,  down  to 
the  two  or  three  glass  vases  and  the  five  or  six 
photograph  frames,  which  was  all  that  adorned  the 
bare  walls — was  still  of  a  painful  newness,  without  a 
stain  or  a  speck  of  dust,  but  also  without  the  conse- 
cration which  long  habit  gives.  He  had  been  much 
in  the  open  air  to-day,  yet  he  felt  no  trace  of  sleepi- 
ness, but,  on  the  contrary,  so  wide  awake  that  he 
could  not  just  now  imagine  what  that  sense  of 
drowsiness  must  feel  like  which  he  had  seen  a 
minute  ago  in  Zenobia's  dark  eyes.  Until  now  he 
had  not  had  leisure  to  examine  those  dreadful  words 
which  Hypolit  had  spoken.  If  he  had  heard  aright, 
and  he  was  certain  that  he  had  heard  aright — they 
could  only  mean  that  Zenobia  was  suspected  of 
having  killed  her  sister,  and  popularly  suspected,  it 
would  seem,  to  judge  of  Hypolit's  last  words  :  '  Not 


i;2        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

I  alone.'  Well,  considering  the  blackness  of  the 
human  heart,  and  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the 
case,  it  was  not  so  very  surprising  that  the  calumny 
should  have  arisen.  The  coincidence  of  the  death, 
happening  on  the  eve  of  the  wedding,  had  been 
most  unfortunate,  certainly ;  but  the  Popadia  had 
said  expressly  that  the  doctor  had  attested  an 
inflammation  of  the  intestines,  and  it  was  to  be 
supposed  that  doctors  do  not  make  mistakes.  If 
only  it  had  not  been  for  that  unfortunate  coin- 
cidence !  No,  it  was  not  only  natural,  it  was  almost 
unavoidable  that  the  rumour  should  have  arisen. 
Poor  Zenia !  Did  she  know  herself  suspected  ?  he 
wondered,  and  at  the  same  moment  stood  still  in 
his  walk  about  the  room.  He  had  just  remembered 
her  marked  dislike  to  appearing  in  public,  and  the 
scene  in  the  street  of  Lussyatyn,  when  so  many  eyes 
had  looked  at  her  so  curiously.  Of  course  she  knew, 
and  probably  had  suffered  acutely.  Why  had  the 
poor  girl  not  spoken  to  him  frankly  ?  Perhaps 
because  she  had  not  wanted  to  touch  his  wound 
by  even  so  much  as  the  name  of  Wasia.  But  it 
was  he  himself  who  would  speak  first ;  it  was  not 
right  that  she  should  suffer  thus  unjustly !  He 
would  assure  her  of  his  absolute  faith  in  her,  even 
at  the  cost  of  an  inner  pain  ! 

He  was  but  one  step  from  the  little  window,  and 
having  reached  it,  leaned  there  with  his  forehead 
against  the  pane,  gazing  out  with  fevered  eyes  into 
the  starlit  night.  Before  him  lay  the  plain  which 
separated  the  village  from  Lussyatyn,  and  across 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         173 

which  they  had  driven  to-day ;  beyond  the  moun- 
tains— the  same  mountains  he  had  loved  to  gaze 
on  from  the  common  at  Hlobaki,  but  so  much  nearer 
here  —  masses  of  transparent  shadow  against  the 
transparent  night  sky.  But,  though  Gregor's  eyes 
were  wide  open,  he  did  not  see  those  things  now  ; 
what  he  saw  was  only  Hypolit's  face,  and  the  faces 
of  his  sisters,  as  they  had  appeared  that  day  in  the 
street.  No  more  need  now  to  look  for  an  explana- 
tion of  their  coldness — that  and  many  other  things 
were  explained  now.  And  these  calumniators  called 
themselves  Christian  people !  Oh,  monsters  of  un- 
charity ! 

For  a  moment  longer  Gregor  remained  immove- 
able,  with  his  hot  forehead  against  the  glass,  whose 
coolness  was  grateful,  then  straightened  himself 
quickly,  and,  going  to  the  table,  took  up  the  petro- 
leum lamp  which  stood  there,  and  opened  the  door 
into  the  bedroom.  Would  Zenia  be  already  asleep? 
Evidently  she  was,  or  else  she  would  have  moved  at 
his  entrance.  Treading  softly,  he  walked  up  close 
to  the  bed.  Zenobia,  her  long  black  plait  hanging 
over  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  almost  on  to  the  floor, 
her  face  pressed  into  the  pillow,  lay  there  breathing 
softly.  With  his  left  hand  shading  the  light,  Gregor 
gazed  down  long  and  intently.  He  was  aware  of 
feeling  provoked  by  her  position,  which  prevented 
his  seeing  her  face  clearly ;  a  cheek  he  could  see, 
and  the  strongly  moulded  jaw,  and  the  sweep  of  one 
black  eyebrow,  and,  for  the  first  time,  it  struck  him 
how  full  of  individuality  the  face  was — of  a  strong 


174         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

and  almost  violent  individuality,  under  its  mask  of 
apathy.  Such  a  woman  ought  to  be  capable  of 
great  actions,  of  unusual  actions  even. 

All  at  once  it  struck  him  as  strange  that  he  should 
be  standing  thus  here,  and  doing  what  he  was  doing. 
In  a  flash  he  seemed  to  catch  sight  of  his  own  image 
and  action  as  seen  from  an  outsider's  point  of  view, 
and  could  find  no  explanation  for  it  but  one,  the 
one  which  the  outsider  would  probably  have  put 
upon  it. 

He  set  down  the  lamp  hastily,  almost  angrily,  on 
the  table  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  for  a  moment 
he  thought  of  waking  up  Zenobia  in  order  to  assure 
her  in  that  very  instant,  without  any  delay  at  all,  of 
his  full  belief  in  her  innocence.  But  that  impulse 
he  quickly  recognised  as  foolish.  It  would  be  better 
to  wait  until  to-morrow,  when  he  could  speak  to  her 
quietly,  and  when  the  unpleasant  excitement  pro- 
duced by  his  talk  with  Hypolit  was  vanished. 

'  It  will  be  gone  to-morrow ! '  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  hastily  undressed. 

But,  although  he  put  out  the  light,  he  could  not 
for  long  get  rid  of  that  terrible  sensation  of  wide- 
awakeness. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  he  ceased  to  be 
aware  of  Zenobia's  breathing  beside  him,  and  that 
for  the  last  time  he  said  to  himself:  '  It  will  be  gone 
to-morrow ! ' 

But  when  he  opened  his  eyes  in  broad  daylight,  it 
was  not  gone  ;  and,  together  with  his  consciousness, 
there  came  to  him  a  thought  which  seemed  to  have 


'75 

watched  beside  his  bed,  ready  to  pounce  upon  his 
imagination  with  the  agility  of  some  animal  of  prey. 

'  Can  it  be  that  her  father  himself  thinks  her 
guilty  ? ' 

That  was  the  thought,  and,  scarcely  born,  it  seemed 
to  grow  with  the  rapidity  of  some  monster  of  fable. 
With  unpleasant  vividness  he  remembered  Father 
Nikodem's  so  strangely  broken  look  on  the  day  when, 
for  the  second  time,  he  had  proffered  his  request  for 
Zenia's  hand.  He  recalled  the  shock  he  had  felt  at 
the  Pope's  changed  appearance,  and  how  it  had 
seemed  to  him  even  then  that  this  breakdown,  both 
physical  and  moral,  seemed  not  quite  explained  by 
his  fresh  grief.  But  if  the  unhappy  father  had  had 
that  other  thought,  and  had  harboured  it,  then  any 
change  could  be  explained.  Yet,  was  it  conceivable 
that  he  should  have  harboured  it  ?  Her  own  father  ! 
— a  priest  of  God ! — knowing  his  own  child  intim- 
ately, and  able  to  judge  of  events  at  a  close  view? 

Gregor  turned  uneasily  in  his  bed  and  became 
aware  that  Zenobia  was  no  longer  beside  him.  She 
was  up  and  busy  in  the  house  according  to  her 
thrifty  habit.  Time  for  him,  surely,  to  be  busy  as 
well !  With  a  hasty  movement  he  arose  and  began 
to  dress.  It  was  long  since  he  had  been  so  remiss, 
and  neither  had  he  the  sensation  of  having  been 
refreshed  by  his  sleep,  but  was  aware  of  a  smarting 
about  the  eyes,  as  of  a  man  who  has  passed  his 
night  out  of  bed. 

As  he  passed  out  through  the  sitting-room,  on  his 
way  to  hear  confessions  in  the  church,  Zenobia,  with  an 


1 76         THE   SUPREME  CRIME 

unbleached  linen  apron  covering  her  dress,  was  busy 
dusting  the  slender  collection  of  knick-knacks — all 
of  them  wedding-presents — which  she  never  trusted 
to  the  servant  girl's  hands.  The  colourless  apron 
was  not  particularly  becoming,  and  the  chill  morning 
air,  coming  in  by  the  open  window,  gave  a  pinched 
look  to  her  sallow  face,  round  which  the  hair  still 
hung  uncombed. 

'  It  is  strange  what  Hypolit  can  see  in  her ! '  was 
the  thought  which  crossed  his  mind,  as,  unknown  to 
himself,  he  went  through  a  swift  mental  comparison 
between  this  face  and  another  which  he  would  never 
see  again  and  which  he  had  always  seen  to  the 
fullest  advantage. 

'  Why  did  you  not  wake  me  as  usual  ? '  he  asked 
reproachfully.' 

'You  looked  so  tired,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
you  slept  restlessly.' 

'What?     Did  I  speak?'  asked  Gregor  quickly. 

'  No,  but  you  groaned  several  times.  I  rather 
think  that  pudding  yesterday  was  underdone,'  added 
Zenobia,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

The  remark  was  so  much  of  a  relief  that  Gregor 
nearly  laughed.  There  was  no  servant  within  hear- 
ing, and  it  would  have  been  easy  to  take  her  hand 
and  to  give  her  the  assurance  that  he  had  wanted  to 
give  her  last  night.  For  a  moment  Gregor  thought 
that  he  was  going  to  do  it,  but  when  he  opened  his 
mouth  it  was  only  to  say — 

'  Don't  expect  me  back  until  one  o'clock  at 
earliest.' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         177 

'  Very  well,'  said  Zenobia  resignedly,  '  but  don't 
forget  to  eat  the  sandwich  which  I  put  into  the 
pocket  of  your  coat ;  you  will  always  find  a  moment 
between  the  confessions.' 

This  being  the  time  of  the  Easter  confessions,  the 
primitive  confessional  in  the  church  was  already 
beleaguered  by  a  crowd  of  men  and  women  with 
work-worn  faces,  which  the  long,  rigorous  fast-time 
— now  approaching  its  end — had  rendered  often 
haggard  and  sometimes  ghastly ;  for  neither  age  nor 
sickness  is  regarded  as  a  sufficient  excuse  for  shirk- 
ing this  severe  discipline.  Many  sat  upon  their 
heels,  some  had  sunk  down  squatting  on  the  floor, 
and  the  eyes  of  old  and  young  strayed  towards  the 
door,  even  while  the  lips  kept  moving  incessantly  ; 
but  on  all  these  waiting  faces  not  one  sign  of  im- 
patience or  irritation.  In  such  improvident  eyes  as 
those  of  the  Ruthenian  peasant  time  has  no  value, 
while  weariness  to  him  exists  not  within  the  four 
walls  of  his  little  wooden  church,  where  the  gilt  back- 
ground of  bright  pictures,  where  huge,  rudely  carved 
candlesticks  and  enormous  flower-decked  candles  of 
solid  bees'-wax  rejoice  his  childlike  heart  and  flatter 
his  colour-loving  eyes,  and  which,  above  all,  is  the 
only  place  in  which  he  ceases  to  be  a  beast  of 
burden.  A  hard-worked  and  pleasureless  life  these 
people  lead,  yet  possess  a  treasure  which  many  of 
the  prosperous  of  the  earth  would  gladly  lay  down 
their  riches  to  possess — the  gift  of  a  simple,  un- 
swerving faith,  the  happy  consciousness  that  this  is 
not  the  end  of  all,  and  that  however  bitterly  the 
M 


178        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

tears  may  flow  beside  a  deathbed,  they  will  infallibly 
be  dried  some  day  ;  for  them  there  is  no  parting  that 
is  final.  Though  their  tired  backs  may  be  bent  over 
the  spade,  and  their  weary  faces  bathed  in  sweat ; 
though  the  maize  may  fail  and  the  potatoes  rot,  it 
can  only  happen  with  the  will  of  One  whom  they 
feel  able  to  submit  to,  and  who  can  another  time 
give  as  much  good  as  it  now  pleases  Him  to 
dispense  evil ;  and  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst, 
there  is  always  the  cerkivie  (church)  to  go  to — the 
cerkwie,  which,  after  all,  is  only  the  first  landing- 
stage  of  that  country  where  the  maize  will  grow 
of  itself,  and  will  require  neither  to  be  hoed  nor 
peeled.  Take  the  little  wooden  building  from  the 
heart  of  each  group  of  straw-thatched  huts,  and  you 
take  from  the  dwellers  under  those  roofs  the  one 
golden  spot  in  their  life,  whose  brightness  suffices  to 
gild  all  the  rest  of  their  existence. 

There  was  a  pulling  together  of  limbs  and  a 
raising  of  heads  as  Gregor  took  his  seat  in  the  con- 
fessional, to  which  an  old  man  hastily  tottered. 
This  poor  old  sinner  spoke  so  indistinctly  that  it 
was  all  Gregor  could  do  to  gain  a  clear  view  of  the 
state  of  his  soul.  A  young  woman  followed  him, 
then  an  old  one,  then  another  and  another ;  to 
Gregor  the  stream  seemed  interminable.  The 
functions  of  a  confessor  were  those  which,  as  a  rule, 
he  fulfilled  with  most  enthusiasm,  finding  in  them 
the  greatest  scope  for  personal  influence ;  but  to-day 
he  quickly  became  conscious  of  a  want  of  interest, 
an  inner  dryness  and  indifference,  for  which  he 


THE  SUPREME   CRIME         179 

rebuked  himself  at  every  minute.  At  moments  he 
caught  himself  not  listening  at  all,  but  going  over 
the  details  of  his  conversation  with  Hypolit.  Each 
time  he  pronounced  the  words  of  absolution  he 
inwardly  resolved  to  give  his  whole  mind  to  the 
next  confession,  and  again,  while  listening  to  the 
monotonous  list  of  offences  which  he  knew  by  heart 
already,  his  thoughts  would  stray,  and  always  to  the 
same  point.  At  intervals,  sometimes  right  in  the 
middle  of  a  confession,  something  new  would  occur 
to  him  ;  as,  for  instance,  when  with  an  inner  start 
he  remembered  how  on  the  day  of  his  betrothal  to 
Zenobia  the  Pope  had  said  to  him :  '  You  know 
how  people  will  talk.'  And  how  Zenobia  herself 
had  asked:  'Are  you  afraid  of  nothing?'  He 
understood  now,  though  he  had  not  understood 
then. 

Scarcely  had  he  detected  himself  on  this  train  of 
thought  when  he  again  pulled  himself  together,  and 
began,  almost  with  asperity,  to  lecture  the  penitent 
in  the  confessional  on  the  duties  of  charity  and  the 
wickedness  of  harbouring  thoughts  of  evil  against 
one's  neighbour. 

During  a  pause  in  the  long  and  weary  ceremony 
Gregor  went  out  to  breathe  the  air  on  the  grassy 
space  behind  the  church.  His  neck  was  stiff  with 
the  cramped  position,  and  in  his  head  there  seemed 
to  hum  all  the  hushed  and  tremulous  voices  that  had 
just  been  pouring  their  secrets  into  his  ear.  Mean 
and  commonplace  secrets  they  were,  for  the  most 
part,  yet  stained  more  than  once  with  the  real  black 


i8o        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

of  sin,  and  smirched  with  its  mud.  These  childlike- 
looking  peasants  were  neither  so  inoffensive  as  they 
looked  nor  so  saintly  as  their  faith  would  have  made 
them  had  they  but  lived  up  to  it,  but  were  given  to 
the  commonplace  failings  of  men  and  women  all 
over  the  world.  The  disgust  of  much  that  he  had 
heard  to-day  surged  over  Gregor  now,  bringing  with 
it  that  disgust  of  his  fellow-creatures  in  general,  from 
which  he  had  always  slightly  suffered.  Human 
nature  was  after  all  a  worse,  not  a  better,  thing 
than  he  had  taken  it  for,  and  full  of  alarming 
possibilities. 

All  the  rest  of  that  day  partook  of  the  character 
of  weary  length  which  had  marked  the  previous 
evening.  Towards  night,  having  forced  himself  to 
analyse  the  restlessness  within  him,  he  found  it  to 
consist  of  an  impatient  desire  to  speak  to  Hypolit 
again,  not  only  in  order  to  express  his  indignation 
more  explicitly,  but  also  to  put  some  questions. 
He  wanted  to  know  what  were  the  particular  circum- 
stances which  had  chiefly  given  rise  to  this  awful 
idea.  Hypolit  was  no  farther  off  than  Lussyatyn, 
but  nothing  but  urgent  business  could  explain  his 
leaving  his  parish  at  so  busy  a  time  as  Holy  Week. 
Gregor  shrank  from  the  invention  of  a  pretext,  not 
because  of  others,  but  because  of  himself.  To  go 
to  Lussyatyn  now  would  be  to  acknowledge  to 
himself  that  the  odious  suspicion  had  troubled  him 
far  more  deeply  than  he  was  yet  prepared  to 
acknowledge.  The  Easter  days  must  absolutely  be 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         181 

waited  for,  and  meanwhile  Zenobia  must  not,  on  any 
account,  guess  that  he  had  even  heard  of  the  calumny 
which  was  afloat.  With  this  thought  in  his  mind,  he 
put  so  careful  a  guard  upon  his  demeanour  that  all 
that  Zenobia  noticed  was  an  increase  of  assiduity 
which  almost  amounted  to  tenderness,  and  which 
she,  inwardly  rejoicing,  attributed  to  the  solicitude 
awakened  by  her  state  of  health,  and  gratefully  and 
humbly  acknowledged  by  a  passing  pressure  of  the 
hand  or  an  occasional  glance  of  deep  affection.  But 
these  glances  were  the  one  thing  that  came  near  to 
breaking  down  Gregor's  self-control,  for  he  did  not 
want  just  now  to  be  reminded  of  her  love.  If  in  the 
early  days  of  his  marriage  he  had  often  remorsefully 
asked  himself  what  she  must  have  suffered,  the 
thought  came  back  to  him  now  with  a  new  impor- 
tunity, suggesting  reflections,  the  consideration  of 
which,  he  felt,  would  definitely  destroy  his  peace. 

The  Easter  visit  to  Lussyatyn  proved  a  failure. 
Although  all  the  notabilities  of  the  place  were 
elbowing  each  other  in  the  Jarewiczs'  dining-room, 
where  Melanya  and  Agata  had  done  their  best,  by 
various  little  elegances  of  decoration,  to  temper 
the  too  patriarchal  character  of  the  time-honoured 
swiezone  (Easter  repast),  Hypolit  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  '  The  Chrobaks  would  have  him  at  their 
swiezonel  Melanya  explained.  But  a  new  hope 
sprang  up  in  Gregor's  breast  as  she  added  :  '  He  is 
not  going  back  to  Vienna  before  the  end  of  the 
week.' 

During    that    week,    Gregor,   now    regardless    of 


1 82        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

appearances,  made  several  efforts  to  meet  Hypolit, 
always  without  success  ;  for  at  this  Easter  season 
there  was  much  gaiety  going  on. 

'  He  is  sure  to  be  staying  over  the  Sunday,'  said 
Gregor  to  himself,  as  alone  in  his  little  cart  he  took 
the  road  to  Lussyatyn  on  the  following  Sunday 
afternoon. 

From  the  street  he  caught  sight  of  Agata  walking 
in  the  garden.  Abruptly  he  drew  up,  too  impatient 
to  drive  round  to  the  house,  and  leaping  to  the 
ground,  approached  the  paling. 

'  Good  afternoon,  Pani  Agata !  I  have  caught 
Hypolit  this  time,  have  I  not  ? '  he  asked,  in  a  tone 
of  artificial  jocularity  that  contrasted  unpleasantly 
with  his  usual  grave  address. 

Agata  stood  still  on  the  gravel  walk,  turning  an 
early  pansy  between  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

'  Hypolit !  Really,  Pan  Petrow,  you  have  no  luck  ! 
Hypolit  went  off  last  night  to  catch  the  express.' 

'To  Vienna?'  asked  Gregor,  his  jaw  dropping 
slowly. 

'  Of  course.     He  is  gone  back  to  his  studies.' 

'  And  he  returns  ?  ' 

'  In  July,  for  the  summer  holidays,  like  every  other 
year,'  said  Agata,  evidently  astonished  at  this  warm 
interest  in  Hypolit's  movements.  She  had  never 
been  aware  of  any  particularly  intimate  friendship 
between  her  brother  and  Gregor  Petrow. 

'  Then  it  is  all  over  for  the  present,'  said  Gregor, 
turning  his  back  upon  Agata,  principally  because  he 
feared  that  there  might  be  something  to  astonish  her 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         183 

in  his  eyes,  and  gazing  along  the  road  which  wound 
away  down  the  valley,  and  white  already  with  the 
first  dust  of  the  season.  As  he  stared  along  its 
blinding  length  he  seemed  to  himself  to  be  gazing 
upon  the  chain  of  weeks  which  he  would  have  to 
pass  before  he  could  again  speak  to  Hypolit,  and 
therefore  before  seeing  any  clearer  in  his  present 
perplexity.  Until  the  middle  of  July  !  And  this 
was  scarcely  May  yet !  More  than  two  whole  months 
to  live  with  the  secret  locked  up  within  him — in 
company  with  that  doubt  which  he  now  recognised 
as  something  alive  within  him,  and  which  would 
feed  on  his  very  heart  if  it  could  find  no  other  food. 

He  stood  so  long  gazing  down  the  valley  that 
Agata  asked — 

'  Will  you  not  come  in  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  ? 
Papa  will  be  glad  to  see  you.' 

Then  he  turned  round. 

'  No,  thank  you ;  my  wife  expects  me  home. 
Pray  give  my  respects  to  your  father/ 

And  without  stopping  to  ask  himself  how  his 
somewhat  erratic  conduct  might  strike  her,  he 
mounted  to  his  seat  and  turned  the  horse  round. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THAT  moment  when  he  had  stood  upon  the 
road  looking  up  the  valley,  with  his  back  to 
the  Jarewiczs'  garden,  had  been  to  Gregor  a  turning- 
point  in  the  history  of  his  inner  life.  Whereas  until 
now  he  had  shrunk  from  any  close  examination  of 
the  facts  of  the  case,  he  now  began  to  investigate 
them  with  an  impatient  eagerness.  It  was  from 
Hypolit  that  he  had  hoped  for  an  appeasing  of  the 
horrified  curiosity  within  him  ;  but  now  that  Hypolit 
was  lost  to  him  for  two  whole  months,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  try  and  appease  this  curiosity 
in  other  ways,  which  could  only  be  by  a  close 
investigation  of  every  detail  of  the  case.  Certainty 
was  what  he  wanted  ;  the  mere  belief  in  Zenobia's 
innocence  no  longer  sufficed — it  must  be  made  into 
certainty. 

And  now  that  he  gave  them  audience,  the 
memories,  each  of  them  of  sinister  significance, 
crowded  in  upon  his  mind,  like  petitioners  that  have 
long  beleaguered  a  closed  door.  But  not  one  among 
them  spoke  for  that  innocence  which  he  so  earnestly 
desired  to  prove  to  himself,  in  order  to  be  rid  of  the 
horror  of  the  thought  which  had  never  left  his  side 

184 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         185 

since  Palm  Sunday,  which  walked  with  him  in  the 
street,  sat  with  him  at  table,  lay  down  with  him  to 
rest,  was  watching  by  his  bedside  when  he  opened 
his  eyes — yea,  which  even  accompanied  him  up  the 
very  steps  of  the  altar.  To  the  large-minded,  the 
fundamentally  easy-going  and  primitively  constructed 
Slav  there  exists  but  one  supreme,  one  unforgivable 
crime,  and  it  is  that  of  bloodshed.  Every  other 
sin,  be  it  as  black  and  as  base  as  human  nature 
allows  of,  can  be  forgiven,  and  even  excused ;  but 
the  taking  of  life,  never ! — for  that  right  belongs  to 
the  Almighty  alone,  and  no  penance  can  condone  it 
when  done  by  human  hand.  The  mere  thought  that 
a  person  standing  so  near  to  himself  was  accused, 
even  though  unjustly,  of  the  one  crime  that  counts, 
was  enough  almost  mentally  to  paralyse  Gregor, 
who,  despite  all  individual  qualities,  was  a  true 
representative  of  his  nation. 

One  memory  showed  him  the  glance  of  repulsion, 
almost  of  hatred — yes,  he  recognised  now  that  it  had 
been  hatred — which  Zenobia  had  hurled  at  her  sister 
on  the  evening  of  the  betrothal,  while  the  scraping 
of  the  fiddles  had  sounded  across  the  yard,  through 
the  open  door  of  the  barn.  He  had  seen  that  same 
look  again  on  the  very  eve  of  the  catastrophe,  when, 
entering  the  room  abruptly,  he  had  surprised  the 
sisters  evidently  in  dispute.  Zenobia's  tone  and  look 
then  had  been  the  tone  and  the  look  of  a  woman 
capable  of  an  unusual  action — but  of  a  crime?  No, 
surely  not ;  and  yet  she  herself  had  said  :  '  I  have 
loved  you  too  well ! '  What  could  she  have  meant? 


1 86        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

With  his  head  in  his  hands,  Gregor,  while  Zenobia 
supposed  him  busy  with  his  entries  in  the  parish 
books,  would  pass  hours  in  trying  to  imagine  what 
had  probably  passed  in  her  mind  during  the  days 
that  preceded  Wasylya's  death.  From  time  to  time 
a  shiver  of  mental  terror  would  run  over  him.  Why, 
after  all,  had  he  at  first  put  aside  the  supposition  as 
impossible?  Was  anything  impossible  where  human 
passion  entered  ?  Had  not  such  crimes  been  com- 
mitted thousands  of  times  since  men  and  women 
were  created  ?  And  were  not  all  the  usual  premises 
for  a  crime  present  here?  It  was  at  least  most  con- 
ceivable that  Zenobia  had  wished  to  see  her  sister 
removed,  since  that  sister  was  the  one  obstacle  to 
her  happiness  ;  and  had  not  even  his  short  experience 
in  the  confessional  already  taught  him  that  from  the 
thought  to  the  deed  there  is  only  one  step  ? 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  this  train  of  thought,  would 
arise  another  memory-picture:  the  face  of  the  servant- 
girl  Hania,  when  he  had  come  back  to  the  house, 
and  her  frightened,  almost  horrified  question : 
'Surely  you  are  not  going  to  woo  Panna  Zenia?' 
That,  too,  fitted  in  to  the  story  in  which  Hypolit 
Jarewicz  pretended  to  believe. 

Gregor  himself  did  not  believe ;  but,  forced  on 
by  that  deep  -  seated  mistrust  which  is  the  bane 
of  the  Ruthenian  mind,  and  which  already  in  the 
seminary  had  rendered  him  evil  service,  he  turned 
and  re-turned  each  of  these  circumstances  in  his 
thoughts — finding,  indeed,  no  certainty  of  any  sort, 
but  feeling  how,  in  the  process,  that  vainly  found 


THE   SUPREME  CRIME         187 

peace,  which  he  had  been  at  so  much  pains  to  acquire, 
gradually  withered  away.  If  he  did  not  in  these 
days  betray  himself  to  Zenobia,  it  was  only  because 
of  the  almost  savage  restraint  which  he  put  upon 
himself,  and  because  the  Slav's  inherent  talent  for 
secrecy  did  him  good  service  at  this  time. 

But  Hypolit's  coming  was  too  far  off.  Soon  Gregor 
began  to  feel  that  he  could  not  remain  inactive  until 
July.  It  was  towards  the  end  of  May  that,  with 
a  certain  embarrassment  of  manner,  he  announced 
to  Zenobia  his  intention  of  driving  over  to  Hlobaki, 
in  order  to  ask  Father  Nikodem's  advice  regarding 
a  difficulty  with  a  parishioner.  Zenia  looked  sur- 
prised, but  made  no  objection  beyond  saying — 

'  Could  you  not  ask  Father  Urban's  advice  just  as 
well?  If  you  go  to  Hlobaki  you  cannot  be  back  the 
same  day.' 

'  I  know,  but  I  can  be  spared  for  a  day  at  this 
season  ;  and  I  have  a  far  greater  regard  for  your 
father's  knowledge  of  the  people  than  for  Father 
Urban's.' 

The  pretext  sounded  plausible  enough,  and  yet 
Gregor  knew  quite  well  that  it  was  only  a  pretext, 
and  did  not  breathe  freely  until  it  became  clear  that 
Zenobia  was  not  going  to  offer  to  accompany  him. 

Hlobaki  lay  between  its  birchwoods,  with  cloud 
shadows  driving  over  its  roofs  and  across  the  grass- 
spotted  common,  when  Gregor  saw  it  again  for  the 
first  time  since  his  marriage.  At  the  sight  his  heart 
swelled  painfully,  big  with  acute  recollections. 

He  was  following  the  well-known  track  when  the 


1 88        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

tiny  tinkle  of  a  bell  fell  upon  his  ear.  From  out  of 
one  of  the  side  lanes  that  ran  between  the  huts, 
a  group  of  men  and  women  were  issuing  with  bent 
heads  and  clasped  hands,  and  at  their  head  he  marked 
a  broad  figure  in  priestly  robes.  Quickly  he  pulled 
up  his  horse  in  the  middle  of  the  common.  Father 
Nikodem,  with  the  viaticum  in  his  hands,  was  evidently 
on  his  way  back  from  the  bedside  of  a  dying  person. 
He  would  follow  the  little  procession,  and  thus  gain 
a  few  minutes  with  the  Pope  outside  the  walls  of  his 
house,  which  was  what  he  preferred.  Confiding  the 
horse  to  the  nearest  of  the  goose-herds,  Gregor  crossed 
the  common  to  where  the  string  of  peasants  were 
heading  for  the  church.  He  could  not  see  Father 
Nikodem's  face,  but  looked  sorrowfully  at  the  bent 
figure  which  a  year  ago  had  still  been  upright  and 
sturdy.  Up  to  the  gate  of  the  cemetery  he  followed 
with  the  peasants,  who  respectfully  saluted  him,  and 
then  stood  still  on  the  road  to  wait  for  his  father- 
in-law.  He  knew  that  on  the  other  side  of  that 
wooden  wall,  at  only  a  few  dozen  paces,  there  was 
a  spot  towards  which  he  had  often  yearned  in  his 
dreams,  but  a  sense  of  unfitness  kept  him  from  putting 
his  foot  on  that  ground. 

One  by  one  the  peasants  dispersed.  He  was  alone 
when  Father  Nikodem,  dragging  his  feet  a  little, 
came  back  through  the  gate ;  and  now  Gregor  could 
note  how  the  black  shadows  that  had  always  marked 
the  Pope's  swarthy  face  had  grown  deeper  and 
blacker  within  the  last  months.  At  sight  of  Gregor 
he  brightened  momentarily — it  was  evident  that  he 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         189 

had  not  noticed  him  until  then — but  on  the  brightness 
followed  swiftly  a  look  of  anxiety. 

'  What  is  it,  my  son  ?  Nothing  has  happened  with 
you?' 

'  Nothing,'  said  Gregor,  with  an  uncertain  smile  of 
reassurance. 

'  Zenia  is  not  with  you  ? ' 

As  he  said  '  No,'  Gregor,  watching  closely,  seemed 
to  see  a  relief  of  the  tension  on  the  father's  face. 

'  I  have  come  to  ask  you  about  a  difficulty  I  have 
in  the  village — and  also  to  see  how  you  have  all 
passed  the  winter,'  he  added  a  little  lamely,  suddenly 
conscious  that  the  other  pretext  was  not  strong 
enough  to  stand  alone. 

'  Oh,  well  enough  —  well  enough/  said  Father 
Nikodem  hastily ;  '  but,  of  course,  one  grows  older 
every  year.' 

'  Yes,  but  one  ought  to  grow  only  one  year  older 
every  year,'  said  Gregor,  looking  hard  into  the  Pope's 
face,  '  and  you  seem  to  have  grown  ten  years  older. 
How  is  that,  Father  Nikodem  ?  ' 

The  old  priest  gave  an  uneasy  laugh,  and  began 
to  walk  down  the  lane,  as  though  to  escape  from  the 
gaze  fixed  upon  him. 

'  One  year  is  not  like  another,  my  son.  You  your- 
self have  changed.  Are  you  content  with  Zenia?' 
he  asked  suddenly,  darting  a  quick  side-glance 
towards  his  companion. 

'  How  should  I  not  be  content  ?  She  is  all  a  wife 
should  be.' 

It  was  said  readily,  but  without  enthusiasm,  and 


i  go 

the  Pope's  black  eyes  still  sought  Gregor's  face 
uneasily. 

'  If  you  have  confidence  in  your  wife,  all  will 
go  well/  he  said,  after  a  moment,  with  a  certain 
solemnity  ;  '  for  if  one  thing  is  certain,  it  is  that 
she  loves  you.' 

Gregor  said  nothing,  and  for  a  minute  they  walked 
on  in  silence,  and  each  of  the  men  had  the  very  vivid 
sensation  of  being  closely  watched  by  the  other. 

'  Father  Nikodem/  began  Gregor  abruptly,  just  as 
they  emerged  on  to  the  common,  '  to  harbour  sus- 
picion without  proof  is  sinful,  is  it  not  ? ' 

'  Of  course  it  is/  replied  the  Pope,  with  an  asperity 
that  Gregor  had  not  known  in  him.  'We  should 
never  think  evil  of  our  neighbour,  not  even  when  he 
is  evil ;  how  much  less  when  the  evil,  maybe,  exists 
in  our  evil  thoughts  alone  ! ' 

Their  eyes  met  for  a  moment  as  he  said  it,  and 
although  this  remained  the  most  explicit  word  spoken 
between  them,  each  knew  that  the  other  had  under- 
stood. In  that  glance  Gregor  recognised  that  Father 
Nikodem  suffered  from  the  same  disease  as  himself, 
and  a  sensation  almost  of  pain  began  to  settle  down 
upon  him.  Her  father!  Her  father  himself!  in 
whom  he  had  hoped  to  find  a  confidence  which  might 
support  his  own  !  Where  was  he  to  look  for  that 
confidence  now?  It  was  this,  then,  which  had  ex- 
tinguished the  genial  smile  and  bent  the  sturdy 
shoulders  ?  this  same  thing  that  was  boring  into  his 
own  thoughts  like  a  worm  ? 

What  more  was  said  before  the  house  was  reached 


THE  SUPREME  .CRIME         191 

belonged  to  the  commonplace  order  of  remarks,  and 
did  not  always  hang  well  together,  as  commonplace 
remarks  should  ;  and  once  within  the  walls  of  the 
parsonage,  the  presence  of  the  Popadia  put  a  natural 
end  to  the  tete-a-t£te.  Nothing  more  had  been  said 
about  the  difficulty  with  the  parishioner,  and  Gregor, 
as  he  sipped  the  tea  set  before  him,  began  to  make 
plans  in  his  own  mind  for  starting  home  that  same 
night ;  there  was  no  use  in  staying  on  here  further, 
since  he  had  already  found  out  what  he  had  come  to 
ascertain.  So  little  was  he  aware  of  his  surroundings, 
that  he  did  not  notice  how  it  came  about  that  he 
presently  found  himself  alone  with  Justina  Moste- 
wicz.  It  required  her  rasping  voice  to  rouse  him  to 
the  fact. 

'  Tell  me  the  truth,  Gregor  Petrow,  how  is  Zenia  ? ' 

Gregor  looked  up,  collecting  his  thoughts  with 
difficulty,  and  found  the  haggard  eyes  of  Zenia's 
mother  fixed  inquiringly  upon  his  face. 

'  She  is  well  in  health.' 

'  Yes — but  in  mind  ?  I  did  not  want  to  question 
you  before  Father  Nikodem  ;  he  himself  is  ill  in 
mind,  as  you  can  see  for  yourself.  Does  she  not 
allow  these  wicked  rumours  to  prey  upon  her?  You 
know,  of  course,  of  what  they  accuse  her  ? ' 

Gregor  nodded,  not  finding  enough  voice  to  say, 
'  I  know.' 

'  It  is  dreadful  how  people's  imaginations  run  wild, 
said  the  Popadia  with  a  deep  sigh.  'As  if  any 
daughter  of  mine  could  ever  forget  herself  so  far  ! 
I  have  never  even  known  anybody  who  could  have 


192 

thought  of  killing  another  person,  and  now  they 
want  to  make  my  own  daughter  into  an  assassin  ! 
I  myself  don't  believe  that  these  things  are  ever  done 
in  cold  blood.  That  a  man  may  put  a  knife  into 
another  in  a  quarrel  is  possible  enough,  but  all  these 
stories  of  poisoning  are  taken  out  of  books, — that  is 
my  conviction.  Is  it  not  yours,  Gregor  Petrow  ?  ' 

'  Of  course/  said  Gregor,  pressing  his  hands  so 
tightly  together  that  the  knuckles  whitened  under 
the  skin. 

'  My  poor  Zenia !  How  worried  she  must  feel 
with  this  false  shadow  upon  her !  You  can't  imagine 
how  I  miss  her  in  the  kitchen  and  the  storeroom 
now, — but  I  don't  grudge  her  to  you,  Gregor  Petrow  ; 
you  know  how  to  appreciate  her,  and  to  believe  in 
her  too ! ' 

To  Gregor  it  was  a  relief  when  an  interruption  cut 
short  these  confidences.  Somehow  there  was  no 
more  comfort  for  him  to  be  found  in  the  Popadia's 
belief  in  her  daughter,  a  belief  which  struck  him  too 
obviously  as  narrow-minded,  than  in  the  Pope's 
evident  mistrust. 

Early  in  the  evening,  despite  the  Popadia's  hos- 
pitable speeches,  Gregor  had  his  horse  led  out  again. 
He  meant  to  drive  through  the  night,  if  necessary. 
As  he  crossed  the  common,  over  which  the  sun  rays 
still  slanted  brilliantly,  his  eye  was  caught  by  the 
brown  cupolas  of  the  little  church  standing  out 
against  the  sunset  sky,  and  although  his  road  did 
not  lead  him  past  it,  he  jerked  the  horse's  head 
round  in  that  direction.  The  desire  to  see  again  that 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         193 

mound  behind  the  wall  had  suddenly  become  para- 
mount, and  at  the  same  time  he  became  aware  that 
the  restraining  influence  of  a  little  while  ago  was 
gone.  He  attributed  to  himself  a  right  to  go  there 
which  he  had  not  felt  before  his  talk  with  Father 
Nikodem. 

The  cemetery  of  Hlobaki,  as  is  the  way  of  the 
country,  was  as  much  orchard  as  cemetery,  Ruthenian 
priests  being  as  a  rule  too  thrifty  to  allow  a  good 
piece  of  ground  to  lie  waste  and  useless,  merely  from 
a  sentimental  scruple.  The  first  apple-  and  plum- 
trees  are  put  into  the  ground  together  with  the  first 
corpses,  and  never  fail  to  flourish  upon  so  congenial 
a  soil,  so  that  long  before  the  space  is  full  the  Pope 
can  gather  rich  harvests  of  fruit,  and  can  continue  to 
gather  them  for  years  after  the  ground  has  been 
officially  closed  as  a  cemetery,  and  has  reached  its 
ultimate  destination  of  an  orchard,  as  was  the  case 
with  the  one  at  the  back  of  Father  Nikodem's  house, 
in  which  the  Matka  Boska  presided  over  the 
harvests. 

In  the  enclosed  space  where  he  now  stood,  Gregor 
had  often  seen  the  plums  dangling  on  to  the  rude 
monuments,  or  some  mound  covered  by  a  shower  of 
unripe  apples,  shaken  down  by  the  last  gust ;  to-day 
there  was  only  the  snow  of  over-blown  blossoms 
upon  the  graves,  or  drifted  into  the  narrow  passages 
— a  snow  that  at  places  was  turning  brown  already, 
at  others  still  tinged  with  a  doubtful  pink.  Though 
the  sun  was  still  shining  outside,  the  air  had  here  the 
feeling  of  confinement,  damp  and  close  as  in  a  cellar ; 
N 


i94        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

for,  doubtless  out  of  motives  of  economy,  the  trees 
had  been  so  closely  planted  as  to  allow  but  little 
light  to  reach  the  ground  ;  mildew  and  moss  had 
eaten  into  the  wooden  crosses,  rust  into  the  iron  ones. 
It  was  an  iron  one  that  stood  on  Wasylya's  grave, 
but  the  rust  had  not  had  time  to  touch  it  yet. 
Gregor  had  to  wander  for  several  minutes  among  the 
mounds  to  find  the  one  he  sought  for.  The  name  in 
gaudily  gilt  letters  was  too  plain  to  be  mistaken,  and 
yet  he  stared  for  a  moment  incredulously,  as  though 
it  were  not  possible  to  believe  that  this — this  was  all 
that  remained  of  Wasia.  A  slight  convulsion  passed 
over  his  features  as  he  stood  immovable  before  the 
terribly  distinct  inscription  ;  then,  falling  on  his 
knees,  he  stretched  his  two  arms  over  the  damp 
mound,  and,  with  his  face  upon  them,  burst  into 
tears.  A  storm  of  pity,  almost  more  than  of  pain, 
was  sweeping  over  his  soul.  To  think  of  Wasia — 
Wasia,  of  all  people  in  the  world — sleeping  in  this 
dark,  cold  place  !  Wasia,  who  had  said  to  him  that 
all  she  wanted  of  life  was  warmth  and  movement 
and  noise, — and  now  to  have  to  lie  so  still  and  so 
alone,  with  the  snow  over  her  in  winter,  and  scarcely 
a  sunbeam  that  could  reach  her,  even  in  summer, 
and  with  nothing  to  listen  to  but  the  wind  among 
the  leaves  overhead,  or  the  thud  of  an  apple  upon 
the  earth  !  Even  as  he  sobbed  out  the  compassion 
which  seemed  to  be  tearing  his  heart  in  two,  in  a 
swift  turn  of  memory  he  saw  her  as  he  had  seen  her 
in  the  maize-field, — with  the  sun  in  her  eyes  and  the 
beads  flashing  on  her  neck,  and  the  trail  of  pumpkin 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         195 

leaves  wreathed  about  her  shoulders ;  and  as  he 
looked  back  at  that  picture,  and  thought  of  what 
now  lay  beneath  this  clammy  earth,  a  shudder,  which 
was  as  much  yearning  as  horror,  ran  over  him.  Oh 
that  he  could  take  her  out  of  that  narrow  bed,  and 
speak  into  her  ear  words  that  would  bring  back  the 
smile  to  those  lips  of  clay  ! 

It  was  many  minutes  before,  exhausted  by  his 
paroxysm  of  grief,  the  first  he  had  indulged  in  un- 
restrainedly since  his  loss,  Gregor  wearily  rose  and 
slowly  moved  down  the  path.  It  was  not  the  path 
he  had  come  .by  ;  but  tears  had  so  blinded  him,  that 
he  did  not  see  that,  instead  of  regaining  the  gate,  he 
was  following  the  track  which  led  to  a  back  entrance, 
arranged  for  the  convenience  of  those  parishioners 
who  came  from  the  side  of  the  plain — no  more  than  a 
stile  in  the  high  wooden  planking  which  enclosed  the 
space.  Here  the  trees  ceased,  and  the  hill  sloped 
away  suddenly,  so  that  Gregor,  emerging  from  the 
dark  track  he  had  been  mechanically  following, 
found  himself  unexpectedly  in  the  sunshine  once 
more,  with  the  free  air  of  heaven  about  him,  and  the 
smiling  country,  chequered  with  its  sprouting  corn- 
fields and  its  freshly  green  copses,  and  with  the  flash 
of  the  river  over  the  plain,  all  stretched  before  him. 
It  was  like  the  opening  of  a  prison  door,  like  a  return 
from  death  to  life.  The  dead  lay  behind  him,  the 
living  before  him.  To  which  would  his  loyalty 
belong? 


CHAPTER    XIX 

DAWN  was  scarcely  yet  whitening  the  sky  when 
Gregor  drew  up  before  his  door,  in  which  the 
key  was  peacefully  sticking,  for  housebreakers  have 
not  yet  spread  to  this  corner  of  the  earth.  Having 
taken  the  horse  to  the  stables  and  unharnessed  it, 
without  any  one  having  been  awakened  in  the 
process,  he  introduced  himself  quietly  into  the  house, 
and,  weary  with  the  long  drive,  felt  his  way  to  the 
bedroom.  The  grey  light,  just  beginning  to  look  in 
at  the  windows,  was  enough  to  show  him  Zenobia 
sound  asleep,  and  not  moving  at  his  entrance.  The 
second  bed,  with  its  snowy  pillow  and  temptingly 
turned-down  sheet,  looked  singularly  inviting  to  a 
traveller  whose  joints  had  almost  been  shaken  out 
of  their  sockets  on  the  cross-country  roads.  Gregor 
began  unbuttoning  his  coat,  and  then,  suddenly 
desisting,  turned  away  and  began  pacing  the  room. 
He  had  taken  off  his  boots  in  the  entrance,  so  that 
there  seemed  little  danger  of  awakening  the  sleeper. 
There  had  come  over  him  a  sort  of  horror  at  the 
idea  of  lying  down  beside  this  woman.  '  Have  con- 
fidence in  her  ! '  Father  Nikodem  had  said  ;  but  the 

196 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         197 

look  he  had  said  it  with  had  not  tallied  with  the 
words  :  he  had  no  confidence  in  her  himself. 

Before  he  had  taken  his  second  turn  there  was  a 
sound  in  the  bed.  Softly  though  he  walked,  Zenobia 
had  heard  his  steps  in  her  dreams,  and  now  opened 
her  drowsy  eyes  to  see  the  shadowy  figure  of  her 
husband  moving  about  the  room. 

'  Gregor !  You  back  already  ?  You  did  not  spend 
the  night  at  Hlobaki?' 

'  No ;  my  business  was  done  quicker  than  I 
expected.' 

'  And  you  found  my  father  well  ? '  she  asked, 
almost  timidly. 

'  As  well  as  he  has  been  since  last  year ;  he  will 
never  get  over  your  sister's  death.' 

For  a  minute  Zenobia  said  nothing,  tongue-tied 
with  astonishment.  It  was  the  first  time  since  their 
marriage  that  Gregor  had  even  indirectly  referred  to 
the  tragedy,  and  she  could  not  immediately  know 
what  construction  to  put  on  this  symptom.  After  a 
moment  only  she  asked  in  a  changed  voice — 

'  But  are  you  not  very  tired  ?  What  keeps  you 
from  lying  down  ? ' 

'  I  do  not  know  what  keeps  me.  I  was  tired,  but 
it  seems  to  be  gone.  Zenia,'  said  Gregor,  standing 
still  beside  the  bed,  and  acting  on  an  impulse  whose 
approach  he  had  not  observed,  and  which  unex- 
pectedly mastered  him, '  what  is  your  own  opinion  of 
your  sister's  death  ?  The  truth  ought  to  be  clearer 
to  you  than  to  anybody.' 

In   the   doubtful   light   he    could   not   quite   dis- 


198         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

tinguish  her  features,  but  he  saw  the  mass  of  black 
hair  against  the  pillow,  and  from  out  of  the  immov- 
able face  two  big  black  patches — unnaturally  big 
and  unnaturally  black  they  looked — which  could 
only  be  her  eyes,  fixed  on  him  in  horrified  con- 
sternation. 

'Why  to  me?'  she  asked  at  last,  almost  inaudibly. 

'Because  you  slept  in  the  same  room  with  her. 
Can  you  not  explain  at  all  what  made  her  die  so 
suddenly  ? ' 

'  The  doctor  said ' 

'  I  know  what  the  doctor  said ;  but  there  was  no 
examination,  and  doctors  sometimes  make  mistakes. 
Do  you  believe  he  was  right  in  what  he  said  ?  Think 
again  of  that  day,  and  tell  me  ! ' 

Zenobia  sat  up  quickly  in  bed,  and  grasped  at 
Gregor's  hand. 

'  Do  not  ask  me  to  think  again  of  that  day ! '  she 
said,  in  a  voice  which  shook  to  its  depth.  '  It  was 
the  most  terrible  day  of  my  life ;  I  cannot  think 
again  of  it — no,  I  cannot ! ' 

With  a  wrench  Gregor  released  the  hand  she  held, 
and  turned  from  the  bed  without  speaking.  Zenobia 
sat  upright  for  a  moment  longer,  then  sank  back  on 
the  pillow,  also  in  silence.  Her  tremulous  lips  had 
closed  and  hardened  in  their  lines,  but  Gregor  would 
not  have  noted  this,  even  had  it  been  broad  daylight. 

It  was  not  only  the  conviction  that  Zenobia's 
father  believed  her  guilty,  which  Gregor  had  brought 
back  with  him  from  Hlobaki,  it  was  also  the  newly 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         199 

awakened  grief  for  his  own  loss,  which  those  few 
minutes  passed  beside  the  grave-mound  with  the  new 
iron  cross  upon  it  had  abruptly  and  vehemently 
brought  back  to  life.  Hitherto,  almost  instinctively, 
he  had  refrained  from  thinking  too  much  of  the  dead 
Wasylya.  Even  while  examining  the  evidence 
against  Zenobia  he  had  conscientiously  striven  to 
keep  his  personal  feelings  out  of  the  matter.  Now 
at  last  he  allowed  himself  to  think  of  the  dead  girl, 
and  he  thought  of  her  as  he  had  never  thought  of 
her  before — in  the  light  of  a  victim  who  had  been 
wrongfully  robbed  of  her  portion  of  life.  In  this 
light  the  loss  became  far  more  difficult  to  bear ;  for 
now  it  did  not  show  so  clearly  the  character  of  a 
direct  intervention  of  Providence.  In  these  days  he 
began  to  see  Wasylya's  face  beside  Zenobia's,  look- 
ing at  him  with  imploring  eyes,  as  though  she  were 
asking  to  be  revenged,  and  piercing  his  heart  with 
the  pain  of  regret.  Had  Wasylya  lived  longer,  it  is 
possible,  and  even  probable,  that  Gregor  would  have 
found  out  in  time,  and  no  very  long  time  either,  that 
she  was,  after  all,  but  a  shallow  and  commonplace 
girl,  with  little  education  and  no  higher  qualities 
either  of  heart  or  mind — a  sparkling  little  heathen, 
at  most ;  but  he  had  never  really  seen  her  except 
through  that  golden  haze  which  hangs  about  most 
men's  lives  for  at  least  a  few  weeks ;  and  before  the 
haze  had  time  to  disperse,  Death  had  come,  and  by 
putting  her  quite  out  of  sight,  had  made  her  memory 
safe  for  ever,  and  ensured  for  her  over  the  rest  of 
Gregor's  life  an  influence  which,  living,  she  never 


200        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

would  have  been  able  to  retain.  It  was  this  influ- 
ence that  now  made  him  shrink  from  Zenobia  with  a 
beginning  of  aversion.  The  man  in  him  turned  from 
her  as  well  as  the  priest — the  man,  because  he  sus- 
pected in  her  the  person  who  had  robbed  him  of  his 
happiness  ;  the  priest,  because  he  felt  the  shadow  of 
that  sin  (which  as  yet  was  only  a  possible  sin)  upon 
himself,  and  because  that  spiritual  pride,  which  he 
had  once  been  warned  against,  and  which  since  then 
had  shown  signs  of  degenerating  into  spiritual 
vanity — just  as  though  his  spirit  had  not  been  strong 
enough  to  bear  the  weight  of  his  vocation — made  him 
recoil  from  contact  with  the  sinner. 

Yet  all  this  was  but  in  his  blacker  moments,  for 
hope  was  by  no  means  dead  within  him  ;  at  times  it 
seemed  even  to  be  coming  back  to  life.  To  see 
Zenobia  moving  so  quietly  about  her  household 
duties,  looking  so  like  what  another  woman  looked 
like  who  had  never  hurt  a  fly,  seemed  to  be  a  constant 
refutation  of  the  calumny.  Certainly  the  thing  was 
too  horrible  to  be  believed  in  without  much  stronger 
proofs.  It  was  as  though  before  committing  itself  to 
the  final  belief,  and  just  because  he  felt  it  so  near,  his 
spirit,  still  fighting  for  its  liberty,  recoiled,  before 
irrevocably  binding  itself.  There  still  at  this  time 
came  moments,  although  his  guard  over  himself  had 
greatly  relaxed,  at  which  Zenobia  was  astonished  by 
some  little  attention  on  his  part ;  these  were  the 
moments  in  which  the  gnawing  mistrust  was  cried 
down  by  the  voice  of  charity.  At  these  moments 
the  realisation  of  the  immensity  of  the  wrong  he 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        201 

might  be  doing  her  would  overwhelm  him  suddenly, 
and  he  would  wish  passionately  to  hear  her  protest 
her  innocence,  no  matter  with  what  vehemence  of 
reproach,  and  yet  he  refrained  from  putting  the 
direct  question,  for  fear  of  hearing  no  such  protest, 
and  of  seeing  his  last  hope  vanish.  And  Zenobia 
herself  was  evidently  not  going  to  speak  unasked. 
By  the  reserve  of  the  attitude  she  had  maintained 
ever  since  his  return  from  Hlobaki,  it  was  evident 
that  she  knew  herself  suspected,  and  much  time  did 
Gregor  spend  torturing  his  brain  in  the  hope  of 
fathoming  its  significance ;  for  it  might  well  be  the 
natural  reserve  of  an  innocent  creature,  deeply 
wounded  by  an  unjust  suspicion,  but  almost  equally 
well  might  it  proceed  from  the  consciousness  of  guilt 
which  has  nothing  to  say  for  itself. 

Exactly  these  alternations  between  suspicion  and 
hope  were  the  worst  part  of  Gregor's  torture,  grow- 
ing at  moments  so  acute  that  it  seemed  as  though 
to  obtain  the  certainty  of  Zenobia's  guilt  would  be 
easier  to  bear  than  to  live  between  this  eternal  horror 
of  the  one  supreme  crime,  and  the  terror  of  wronging 
a  fellow-creature,  the  woman  who  loved  him,  and 
who  was  to  be  the  mother  of  his  child.  His  child ! 
Even  this  thought  was  poisoned  for  him  now,  for  it 
would  be  Zenobia's  child  as  well,  and  he  would  think 
to  see  upon  its  forehead  the  same  mark  that  in  his 
blackest  moments  he  thought  to  read  upon  its 
mother's  brow.  Not  his  child,  but  the  child  of  Sin 
it  would  be,  the  direct  fruit  of  an  awful  deed,  if  that 
deed  had  ever  been  done — oh,  confusion  and  per- 


202         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

plexity !     He  was  back  again  at  the  old  point  of 
absolute  uncertainty. 

In  this  long-drawn-out  agony  of  spirit  the  weeks 
of  the  early  summer  passed,  without  bringing  any 
explanation  between  husband  and  wife.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  the  certainty  that  Hypolit  would  return, 
and  for  the  hope  of  the  light  which  he  might  be  able 
to  throw  on  the  matter,  it  is  hard  to  imagine  how 
Gregor  would  have  lived  through  the  time,  for  even 
the  joy  in  his  priesthood  had  failed  him, — as  dead 
again,  seemingly,  as  it  had  appeared  to  be  after 
Wasylya's  death.  Perhaps  other  people  could  have 
told  him  as  much  as  Hypolit  could  tell  him,  but  to 
initiate  a  third  person  into  his  thoughts  seemed  to 
him  impossible.  It  was  upon  Hypolit's  arrival  that 
he  kept  his  mental  gaze  fixed,  as  upon  a  hope  of 
salvation. 


CHAPTER    XX 

TICKETS  for  Kolomea ! ' 
Hypolit  Jarewicz  was  among  the  second- 
class  travellers  who,  one  dusty  July  afternoon,  re- 
sponded to  the  call.  Rousing  himself  from  the  half 
slumber  into  which  the  monotonous  rattle  of  the 
wheels,  together  with  the  almost  tangible  suffoca- 
tion which  seemed  to  rise  from  the  dirty  drab 
cushions,  had  cast  him,  he  smoothed  down  his  thin 
black  hair,  and  looked  about  him.  Kolomea  was 
his  station  for  Lussyatyn,  and  the  landscape  he 
looked  at  now  already  bore  a  familiar  face.  The 
broad-bladed  fields  on  each  side  told  him  that  he 
was  back  in  the  maize  country,  while  the  long-drawn 
blue  wave  that  lapped  along  the  horizon  spoke  of 
the  welcome  coolness  that  even  on  this  torrid  day 
reigned  in  the  deep  Carpathian  valleys.  Thirty-six 
hours  ago  Hypolit  had  lounged  along  the  Kdrnthner 
Strasse,  and  feeling  as  much  in  his  element  there  as 
any  of  the  soldiers  or  civilians  he  brushed  shoulders 
with.  The  atmosphere  of  the  capital,  intense,  keen, 
restlessly  on  the  move,  was  inherently  congenial  to 
him — the  only  one  in  which  his  own  keen  and  intense 

203 


204        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

nature  could  exist  with  enjoyment  for  any  length  of 
time ;  and  yet  the  sight  of  those  maize-fields  and  of 
that  blue  mountain-line  never  failed  to  move  him,  in 
a  way  for  which  this  fin  de  siecle  philosopher  scorned 
himself  intensely.  There  were  many  other  things 
for  which  Hypolit  Jarewicz  scorned  himself,  with- 
out being  able  to  get  rid  of  their  influence,  and  as 
he  now  gazed  out  at  the  home  landscape,  one  of 
these  things,  the  one  for  which  he  scorned  himself 
most  and  was  least  able  to  escape  from,  seemed  to 
be  suddenly  standing  quite  close  to  him. 

What  there  was  in  Zenobia  Mostewicz — now 
Zenobia  Petrow  and  lost  to  him  for  ever — to  make 
her  image  live  through  the  crowd  of  more  brilliant 
or  more  engaging  faces  which  peopled  the  streets 
of  the  capital,  not  even  Hypolit's  abnormal  sharp- 
ness of  wit  had  ever  been  able  to  account  to  itself 
satisfactorily.  There  was  something  almost  illogical 
in  the  attraction,  whatever  it  was,  which  this  half- 
educated  and  distinctly  dowdy  country-girl  exercised 
upon  the  man  for  whom  fashion  and  progress  and 
modernity,  whether  in  scientific  discovery  or  in 
clothes,  were  the  very  breath  he  lived  on.  And  here 
there  was  no  golden  haze  to  dim  his  sight ;  clearly 
he  recognised  her  as  both  half-educated  and  dowdy  ; 
but  even  the  laughing  comparisons  which  he  made 
between  her  and  the  faultlessly  dressed  Viennese 
beauties,  altered  nothing  about  the  fact  that  these 
did  no  more  than  tickle  his  fancy  for  a  moment,  fading 
away  again  into  the  crowd  they  came  from,  while  this 
one  dark,  somewhat  ponderous  image,  with  its  heavy- 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         205 

lidded  glance,  never  moved  from  its  place.  Was  it 
because  the  laws  of  contrast  have  to  be  followed, 
and  because  he  himself  was  small  and  physically 
slight,  that  the  almost  monumental  lines  about  this 
large,  reposeful  woman,  who  never  seemed  to  be 
more  than  half  awake,  had  taken  such  a  hold  of  his 
capricious  fancy?  Or  was  it  simply  because  he  had 
not  succeeded,  and  that  the  thought  was  particularly 
galling  to  the  almost  universally  successful  lady-killer, 
whose  original  style  of  ugliness  had  proved  a  pitfall 
to  far  more  frail  female  hearts  than  the  straightest 
noses  and  broadest  shoulders  among  his  fellow- 
students? 

There  never  is  any  answer  to  these  questions,  and 
there  was  no  answer  here.  Fling  what  bitter  taunts 
at  himself  he  might,  the  fact  remained  that  for  this 
cynical  despiser,  this  light-hearted  betrayer  of  women, 
there  really  existed  but  one  woman,  and  that  was 
Zenobia  Petrow.  Even  in  his  own  thoughts  it  was 
odious  to  him  to  have  to  call  her  by  that  name.  For 
many  years  past  he  had  hated  Gregor.  During  all 
the  time  that  the  walls  of  the  seminary  had  hidden 
him,  he  had  seen  in  him  the  rival  who,  even  though 
invisible,  still  remained  triumphant.  But  it  was  since 
his  marriage,  or,  more  truly  speaking,  since  Wasylya's 
death,  that  this  hate  had  become  perfect.  That 
Zenobia  loved  Gregor  he  had  known  for  long,  but 
that  she  had  thought  him  worth  a  crime  had  shaken 
him  through  and  through, — for  that  remark  dropped 
at  Easter  had  been  no  invention  of  jealous  spite ; 
for  him  the  crime  existed  as  certainly  as  though 


206        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

proved  in  a  court  of  justice,  and  by  its  existence, 
instead  of  darkening  Zenobia's  image,  gave  it  a  more 
dominant  force.  A  woman  who  could  love  to  the  point 
of  murder,  here  was  something  to  still  the  cravings  of 
his  excitable  imagination,  to  satisfy  his  love  of  the 
vehement,  the  extraordinary,  of  anything  that  went 
against  that  ancient  code  of  morals  long  since  re- 
cognised by  him  as  a  worn-out  garment,  which 
human  society,  under  the  guidance  of  such  leaders 
as  Nietsche,  was  making  ready  to  cast  off.  If  his 
envy  for  Gregor  had  been  a  thorn  till  now,  it  now 
became  a  dagger.  To  have  been  the  cause  of  this 
magnificent  crime  !  How  did  this  boyish,  blue-eyed 
priest  come  by  this  honour?  Oh,  to  stand  in  his 
place,  and  know  himself  bought  at  such  a  price ! 
Was  it  possible  that  this  miracle  of  naivete  did  not 
know  himself  to  have  been  thus  bought?  As  Hypolit, 
with  his  luggage  ready  beside  him,  sat  upright  on 
his  seat,  staring  out  at  the  window,  he  vaguely 
wondered  whether  that  consternation  betrayed  at 
Easter  had  been  genuine  or  not.  Certainly  it  had 
looked  genuine,  and  yet  so  complete  an  ignorance  of 
that  which  was  being  cried  aloud  on  the  house-tops 
was  difficult  to  believe  in.  During  the  next  few 
months  he  would  probably  have  an  opportunity  of 
judging  of  this.  He  drew  down  his  black-beetle 
brows  rather  low  at  the  thought,  for  the  prospect 
of  spending  the  rest  of  the  summer  in  Zenobia's 
vicinity  had  about  it  something  that  was  as  disturb- 
ing as  it  was  exciting.  As  matters  stood  now,  he 
had  no  intention  of  approaching  her,  principally,  let 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         207 

it  be  said,  because  he  could  see  no  hope  of  success ; 
but  occasional  meetings  would  probably  be  unavoid- 
able, and  he  knew  that  each  of  these  would  bring 
him  that  sense  of  enraged  humiliation  which  he  had 
always  been  conscious  of  in  her  presence. 

'  Kolomea ! '  shouted  the  guard,  tearing  open  the 
door ;  and  from  a  thought-engrossed  individual 
Hypolit  became  transformed  into  a  particle  of  a 
jostling  and  hurrying  crowd,  guiltless  of  all  thought 
except  that  which  regarded  the  safety  of  his  luggage. 

When  after  sunset  that  night,  Hypolit,  having 
washed  off  the  dust  of  the  four  hours'  drive,  sat  at 
the  paternal  supper-table,  the  very  name  he  did  not 
want  to  hear — that  of  Gregor  Petrow — was  one  of 
the  first  to  mix  itself  in  the  conversation. 

'  He  has  been  inquiring  after  you  constantly  lately,' 
said  Melanya,  as  she  poured  out  the  tea.  '  Only 
yesterday  he  was  here,  and  so  disappointed  not 
to  find  you  yet.  I  had  no  notion  you  were  such 
friends.  He  said  he  would  come  back  to-morrow.' 

'  Extremely  flattered,  I  am  sure,'  said  Hypolit, 
with  a  rather  one-sided  grin  ;  '  but  I  doubt  whether 
it  is  friendship  so  much  as  burning  curiosity ;  he 
probably  wants  to  know  what  is  the  last  fashion  in 
altar-cloths  in  the  capital.  I  always  said  that  he  is 
an  inquiring  young  man.' 

'  Hypolit ! '  remonstrated  his  father,  doing  his  best 
to  purse  his  feeble  lips. 

When  next  afternoon  came,  Hypolit,  having  drunk 
his  coffee  in  a  more  silent  mood  than  usual,  turned 


208        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

to  his  father  with  an  abrupt  question  as  to  whether 
he  could  have  the  dog-cart  ? 

'  In  this  heat?'  asked  Father  Urban,  starting  from 
the  gentle  doze  into  which  he  had  just  glided. 
'  Surely  this  verandah  is  a  much  pleasanter  place 
than  the  dog-cart  on  such  a  day  as  this  ? ' 

'And  then  Gregor  Petrow  is  coming,'  remarked 
Melanya.  '  If  you  go  he  will  miss  you  again.' 

'  I  want  to  miss  him,'  said  Hypolit,  with  his 
pleasantest  smile. 

'  Does  he  bore  you  ?  Certainly  he  is  not  very 
amusing.' 

'  Yes,  he  bores  me.  At  any  rate  I  find  the  society 
of  Martin  Chrobak  more  entertaining ;  and  as  I  have 
a  packet  to  deliver  to  him  from  his  brother  in  Vienna, 
I  mean  to  deliver  it  to-day.  Can  I  have  the  dog- 
cart, father?  I  shall  drive  myself.' 

The  dog-cart  was  of  course  forthcoming,  as  every- 
thing always  was  that  Hypolit  desired,  and,  with  a 
certain  hurry,  he  mounted  it.  His  wish  to  miss 
Gregor  had  been  no  figure  of  speech.  The  thought 
of  opening  relations  so  quickly  in  that  quarter  did 
not  suit  the  plans  he  had  formed  of  keeping  as 
clear  of  the  Petrows  as  circumstances  permitted.  If 
already  on  the  morrow  of  his  arrival  he  was  to  meet 
Gregor,  he  knew  that  the  detestation  which  the  sight 
of  that  fair,  boyish  face  awoke  within  him  would 
have  too  much  time  to  grow  big  before  the  end  of 
the  vacation. 

At  this  hour  and  under  this  beating  sun  the  road 
was  almost  deserted.  The  dust-powdered  leaves  on 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        209 

the  trees  which  stood  on  either  side  hung  so  still 
that  they  might  have  been  made  of  cast-iron.  The 
short  grass  in  the  ditches  almost  disappeared  under 
the  layers  of  dust  that  smothered  it.  The  cattle  in 
the  fields  were  lying  down,  and  the  small  boys  and 
girls  who  herded  them  were  mostly  fast  asleep  under 
linen  umbrellas. 

It  was  unfortunate,  certainly,  that  the  road  to 
Martin  Chrobak  led  close  enough  past  the  village  of 
Rubience  to  let  Hypolit  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  roof 
of  the  Petrows'  dwelling,  which  distinguished  itself 
by  being  the  only  tin  roof  among  a  mass  of  wooden 
ones  ;  but  this  was  a  sight  which  he  would  have  to 
grow  used  to  during  the  next  few  months.  As, 
despite  the  blinding  light,  he  strained  his  eyes  in  that 
direction,  asking  himself  angrily  what  the  dwellers 
under  that  roof  might  be  doing  at  that  moment,  he 
failed  to  notice  the  cloud  of  dust  rolling  towards 
him,  from  which  there  first  emerged  a  horse's  head 
and  then  a  vehicle  not  unsimilar  to  his  own.  It  was 
not  until  he  heard  himself  sharply  apostrophised  by 
name  that  he  turned  to  see  Gregor  Petrow,  only  a 
few  yards  distant,  sharply  pulling  up  the  horse  which 
he  had  been  urging  on  in  a  contrary  direction. 
Though  not  given  to  looking  stupid,  Hypolit  looked 
rather  stupid  now.  He  had  not  foreseen  this  danger, 
never  having  supposed  that  Gregor  would  start  so 
early,  in  the  very  heat  of  the  afternoon.  For  a 
moment  he  thought  of  driving  straight  on,  unheedful 
of  the  interruption,  but  something  in  Gregor's  face 
made  him  give  up  the  idea.  Even  his  first  glance 
O 


210        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

had  showed  him  an  expression  there  which  required 
explanation,  and  his  ever  lively  curiosity  meant  to 
have  that  explanation. 

'  Good-afternoon,'  he  said  quite  agreeably,  pulling 
up  his  horse  while  they  were  still  abreast.  '  A  hot 
afternoon  for  driving,  isn't  it  ?  Funny  that  we  should 
both  hit  upon  it ! ' 

'  You  were  coming  to  see  me  ? '  asked  Gregor, 
leaning  eagerly  over  the  side  of  the  cart. 

Hypolit  looked  him  over  quickly,  and  then  his  eyes 
turned  towards  that  roof  in  the  distance. 

'  Yes,'  he  said,  with  a  deliberation  which  would 
have  surprised  himself  had  he  been  given  to  sur- 
prises, '  I  was  coming  to  see  you.  We  are  close  to 
the  turn,  are  we  not  ?  ' 

'  And  I  was  on  my  way  to  you.  Yes,  that  is  the 
turn.  I  suppose' — Gregor  looked  backwards  and 
hesitated — '  that  we  are  much  nearer  to  Rubience 
than  to  Lussyatyn  ?  ' 

The  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Hypolit  had  come 
at  last,  that  was  clear ;  but  rather  than  his  own 
house  he  would  have  chosen  any  place  for  the  inter- 
view, and  yet  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

'  We  shall  be  glad  to  welcome  you/  he  said  a  little 
stiffly,  as  he  turned  his  horse's  head. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE  drive  that  remained  was  but  a  short  one, 
and,  owing  to  the  necessity  of  keeping  single 
file  on  the  narrow  track  that  led  to  the  village,  no 
consecutive  conversation  could  be  kept  up,  of  which 
Gregor  was  secretly  glad.  Now  that  the  moment 
for  which  he  had  been  waiting  for  two  and  a  half 
months  had  come,  he  felt  suddenly  overwhelmed 
by  the  difficulties  of  putting  that  question  which 
yet  would  have  to  be  put. 

If  the  road  had  seemed  to  be  asleep,  so  did  the 
village.  Most  likely  the  grown-up  inhabitants  were 
anything  but  asleep,  but  out  in  the  fields  hoeing 
their  maize ;  but  the  effect  to  the  passer-by  was  the 
same.  Behind  the  high  screens  of  their  wattled 
palings  the  huts  stood  like  houses  of  the  dead,  with 
no  face  either  at  door  or  window,  without  the  bark 
of  a  dog  or  the  laugh  of  a  child,  and  with  only  here 
and  there  the  dimly  seen  tail  of  a  cow  whisking  in 
the  darkness  of  an  open  byre-door.  The  pigs,  the 
natural  scavengers  of  the  lanes,  lay  stretched  in  the 
shadow  of  the  palings,  too  lazy  to  grunt,  and  even 
the  sunflowers  that  nodded  over  the  wattled  tops 
seemed  to  be  taking  their  afternoon  siesta. 

211 


212         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

It  was  in  one  of  these  narrow  lanes  that  Gregor's 
dwelling  stood,  also  behind  a  paling,  but  of  freshly 
painted  white  wood.  The  white  curtains  were  drawn 
down  over  the  small  square  windows,  and  nothing 
moved  on  the  tiny  verandah,  round  whose  wooden 
pillars  the  vine  had  scarcely  begun  to  grow,  and 
which  was  now  flooded  with  the  merciless  sunshine. 
Only  a  yellow  cat  lay  upon  one  of  the  steps,  stretched 
out  to  a  seemingly  unnatural  length. 

'  I  declare  it 's  like  a  fairy-tale,'  said  Hypolit,  as 
he  laughingly  alighted.  '  Everything  seems  asleep 
except  the  flies.' 

The  rooms  inside  were  empty,  and  comparatively 
cool. 

'Shall  we  sit  down  here?'  asked  Gregor  nervously, 
feeling  the  approach  of  the  moment  he  dreaded  and 
longed  for. 

Hypolit  looked  out  through  the  door,  which  stood 
open,  on  to  the  long  strip  of  garden  at  the  back. 

'  I  think  I  ought  to  pay  my  respects  to  your  wife 
first.' 

'  She  is  in  her  room,  I  think,  resting,'  said  Gregor 
quickly. 

'  Ah !  Then  let  us  go  out.  It  looks  nice  under 
that  nut-tree.' 

The  nut-tree  was  the  one  remarkable  thing 
belonging  to  the  clerical  dwelling,  about  which 
everything  else  was  painfully  new  and  painfully 
commonplace.  The  house,  which  had  been  built 
barely  a  year  ago,  still  smelt  of  rnortar  and  paint;  the 
half-dozen  shrubs,  planted  anyhow  in  front  of  the 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        213 

windows,  had  scarcely  had  time  to  take  root ;  the 
long,  narrow  kitchen-garden  at  the  back,  pressed 
thin  between  two  walls  of  wattled  paling,  was  barely 
emerging  from  its  former  condition,  which  had  been 
that  of  a  maize-patch  ;  everything  was  still  uncertain 
and  unformed  ;  the  nut-tree  alone,  soaring  far  above 
the  low  roof,  and  stretching  gnarled  giant  arms  far 
around  it  —  far  too  far  for  the  wellbeing  of  the 
cabbages  and  beetroots — was  absolutely  sure  of  its 
position  in  life.  It  even  seemed  that  if  the  nut- 
tree  had  not  been  there  the  house  would  not  have 
been  there  either — that  it  had  been  chiefly  for  the 
sake  of  including  it  in  the  garden  that  this  particular 
spot  had  been  selected  for  its  site.  Under  its  myriads 
of  glossy  leaves  it  was  good  to  sit  as  in  a  tent,  inhal- 
ing their  pungent  odour,  and  resting  tired  eyes  upon 
their  cool  green.  A  couple  of  garden  chairs  always 
stood  there  ;  but  so  low  did  the  sides  of  the  tent  fall, 
that  it  was  not  until  the  two  men  reached  the  spot, 
that  one  of  the  chairs  was  seen  to  be  occupied. 
Zenobia,  in  a  loosely  flowing,  cream-coloured  gown, 
whose  stately  folds  veiled  her  figure,  her  head  thrown 
back  against  the  crimson  cushion  which  she  had 
pushed  under  her  neck,  slept  there,  with  the  green 
light  from  the  nut-leaves  playing  upon  her  forehead. 

Hypolit  and  Gregor  stood  still  abruptly. 

'The  sleeping  princess!'  whispered  Hypolit,  smil- 
ing more  brilliantly,  and  perhaps  a  little  more 
nervously,  than  usual.  '  I  told  you  it  was  a  fairy- 
tale/ 

'  I    thought   she  was   in  her  room,'  said    Gregor, 


2i4        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

frowning,  and  at  that  moment  Zenobia  moved  her 
head.  Her  eyes,  still  full  of  sleep,  went  from 
Gregor  to  Hypolit,  then  back  again  to  Gregor. 

'  I  thought  you  were  gone  to  Lussyatyn,'  she  said, 
colouring  faintly  as  she  sat  up.  Something  touched 
her  hand  as  she  spoke,  she  lifted  it  towards  her  head, 
but  too  late  to  arrest  the  uncoiling  of  her  magnifi- 
cent hair,  which  now  fell  heavily  over  her  shoulder 
and  in  a  coal-black  flood  across  her  breast.  With  a 
more  vivid  colour  in  her  face,  aware  of  Hypolit's 
eyes  upon  her,  she  attempted  to  fasten  it  up,  but 
the  mass  was  too  heavy  and  too  slippery ;  pushing 
it  back  impatiently,  she  slowly  stood  up. 

'  I  must  put  myself  in  order,'  she  said,  smiling  in 
momentary  embarrassment.  '  And  I  shall  bring  you 
something  to  drink,  something  cooling  after  your 
hot  drive.  Do  you  like  raspberry  or  currant  juice 
best,  Pan  Jarewicz  ? ' 

'  Currant,'  said  Hypolit,  as  he  stood  aside  to  let 
her  pass.  As  she  moved  down  the  straight  path 
her  black  hair  hung  about  her  like  a  mantle ;  and 
Hypolit,  who  had  never  seen  her  hair  down  to  its 
full  length,  though  often  tormented  by  the  desire  to 
do  so,  stood  without  moving  and  without  turning 
his  head,  until  he  heard  Gregor's  voice  saying  beside 
him — 

'  It  is  impossible!' 

Turning  sharply  round  he  saw  that  Gregor  had 
sunk  into  the  second  chair,  and  sat  there  with  burn- 
ing eyes  raised  to  his  face. 

'What  is  impossible?' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         215 

'  What  you  told  me  in  spring.  It  is  a  wretched 
calumny.  Could  a  woman  who  has  done  the  thing 
they  accuse  her  of  have  enough  peace  of  mind  to 
care  whether  a  visitor  prefers  raspberry  to  currant 
juice?' 

Hypolit  passed  the  flat  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes, 
and  mechanically  sat  down  on  the  chair  beside  him, 
the  one  which  Zenobia  had  just  left.  On  the  crimson 
cushion,  which  was  slung  over  the  back,  he  could 
still  feel  the  warmth  of  the  head  which  had  reposed 
there.  Though  Gregor's  tone  had  been  pressing  to 
the  point  of  urgency,  he  did  not  speak  at  once.  The 
very  urgency  had  been  to  him  a  revelation.  In  that 
one  moment  in  which  he  had  laid  his  hand  across 
his  eyes  he  had  seemed  to  catch  a  lightning-like 
view  of  the  situation  :  of  the  husband's  ignorance  ; 
of  his  suspicions,  which  might  be  either  confirmed 
or  not ;  of  the  many  startling  possibilities  that  were 
here  entailed — and  all  this  mixed  with  the  vision  of 
the  wife's  hair,  that  dense  black  hair  which  held  his 
fancy  as  though  with  ropes.  It  was  what  there  was 
of  honest  in  him  which  kept  him  silent  for  so  long ; 
but  with  the  vision  of  that  hair  there  came  an 
impulse  which  he  recognised  as  wicked,  and  yet 
welcomed  as  the  solution  of  his  momentary  doubt. 

'  Then  you  were  not  acting  in  spring?'  he  observed 
at  last,  with  the  customary  smile  come  back  to  his 
face,  and  with  almost  the  customary  lightness  of 
tone.  '  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  a  man  feign 
surprise  so  well.' 

'  Acting !     No,  I  cannot  act.     Hypolit,  you  don't 


216        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

know  what  you  did  to  me  that  day,  nor  what  I  have 
suffered  since.  The  only  way  you  can  make  it  good 
is  to  speak  plainly  now.  In  common  mercy  be 
honest,  and  tell  me  what  grounds  there  exist  for 
suspecting  my  unhappy  wife — what  grounds  beyond 
the  vulgar  surmises  of  the  crowd.' 

4  Don't  ask  me ! '  said  Hypolit,  darkening  for  an 
instant,  and  fighting  what  would  probably  be  his 
last  battle.  '  Don't  expect  honesty  from  me  \  I  am 
not  an  unprejudiced  witness.  Have  you  forgotten 
that  I  meant  to  marry  your  wife  myself?  How  do 
you  know  that  I  might  not  be  speaking  out  of  mere 
spite  and  jealousy  ? ' 

'  I  don't  care  what  makes  you  speak,  I  only  ask 
you  to  speak ;  I  only  want  to  see  the  facts  of  the 
case  plainly.  I  don't  know  whether  you  care  for 
Zenia  still ;  but  even  if  you  do,  I  am  not  afraid  of 
you,  because  I  know — oh,  I  know  it  only  too  well ! — 
that  she  loves  me,  and  not  you.' 

Stretching  out  a  nervous  hand,  Hypolit  tore  off  a 
piece  of  nut-leaf  beside  him,  and  held  it  crushed 
together  before  his  widening  nostrils,  drinking  in 
the  pungent  odour  with  a  fierce  and  almost  furious 
delight. 

'  Well,  if  ever  a  man  had  a  proof  of  affection  given 
him,  you  are  that  fortunate  individual,'  he  drawled 
with  elaborate  affectation,  his  small  eyes  squeezed 
almost  out  of  sight. 

'  So  you  assume,  or  pretend  to  assume,  I  don't 
know  which.  I  suppose  you  hate  me,  Hypolit ;  but 
even  if  you  hate  me,  you  might  give  me  the  plain 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         217 

answer,  which  is  all  I  ask  for.  Once  for  all,  are  you 
playing  with  me  or  not?  Is  your  belief  an  honest 
one,  or  has  it  been  invented  in  order  to  torture  me  ? ' 

'You  insist  upon  my  answering  truly?' 

'  I  insist, — I  implore  ! ' 

'  Well  then,'  and  sitting  up  straight  in  his  chair, 
Hypolit  gave  Gregor  the  first  entirely  square  look 
he  had  given  him  that  day,  his  own  lips  growing  a 
little  white  under  his  thin  moustache  as  he  spoke, 
'  it  is  my  honest  belief  that  Wasylya  died  by  poison. 
Indeed,  the  facts  of  the  case  seem  so  plain  that  I 
find  it  difficult  to  believe  in  the  complete  ignorance 
you  affect.' 

For  a  moment  longer  Gregor  remained  in  his 
attitude  of  eager  listener,  his  body  bent  forward,  his 
haggard  eyes  jealously  reading  Hypolit's  expression, 
then  slowly  his  face  sank  into  his  hands.  It  was 
upon  these  hands  that  Hypolit's  gaze  remained  fixed 
during  the  pause  that  followed, — jealously  and  in- 
tently fixed.  How  he  hated  them,  those  white, 
womanishly  delicate  hands,  that  were  his  rival's  only 
real  beauty,  and  which  probably  were  more  guilty 
of  his  own  defeat  than  even  the  clear  blue  eyes. 

'  But  what  proofs  are  there  ? '  Gregor  began,  speak- 
ing very  quickly  after  that  pause.  '  People  often  die 
suddenly  ;  and  if  this  were  really  believed,  why  should 
there  have  been  no  public  accusation,  no  inquiry  ? 
And  where  could  she  have  got  the  poison  from  ? 
And  how  could  there  have  been  no  traces  ? '  All 
the  questions,  which  for  two  months  past  had  been 
pursuing  him,  now  poured  pell-mell  from  his  lips. 


218        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Hypolit,  quite  cool  now,  answered  each  one 
quietly  and  clearly,  without  any  more  sign  of  either 
hesitation  or  excitement,  and  with  an  obvious 
sincerity  which  was  more  deadly  to  hope  than  could 
have  been  the  most  pointed  insinuations. 

'Proofs?  I  did  not  speak  of  proofs,  but  of  sur- 
mises, which  to  any  one  but  a  student  of  medicine 
will  probably  remain  surmises,  though  for  me  they 
are  conclusive.  Why  was  there  no  inquiry  ?  That, 
surely,  is  obvious  enough.  In  another  family  there 
would  have  been  an  inquiry,  but  Father  Nikodem  is 
too  much  respected  by  people  in  general,  and  by  old 
Doctor  Robowski  in  particular,  to  let  a  scandal  grow 
beyond  the  unavoidable  whisperings  in  the  ear.' 

'You  mean  that  he  gave  a  false  certificate  ?' 

'  He  has  not  told  me  so — indeed  he  denied  it  when 
I  taxed  him  with  it  to  his  face,  but  in  a  manner  which 
could  leave  no  doubt  in  my  mind.' 

'  And  now  he  is  gone  from  this  district,'  said 
Gregor  reflectively.  '  But  the  poison  ?  Where  could 
she  have  got  the  poison  from  ? ' 

'  From  Ursula  Adamicz,  who  has  once  before  been 
punished  for  selling  arsenic  indiscriminately.' 

'Who  is  Ursula  Adamicz?' 

'  An  old  woman  who  aims  at  the  reputation  of  a 
witch,  and  has  succeeded  so  well  as  to  have  made 
acquaintance  with  the  police.' 

'  I  never  heard  of  her  before  ;  I  don't  believe  Zenia 
even  knows  her.' 

'  It  is  almost  certain  that  she  visited  her  about  a 
week  before  her  sister's  death.  She  was  seen  on  the 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         219 

road  to  Ursula's  hut  one  rainy  evening  in  October. 
Perhaps  you  remember  her  coming  to  supper  late 
one  night,  and  with  her  hair  wet  ? ' 

Gregor  remembered  that  evening.  At  the  time 
he  had  not  even  been  aware  of  paying  any  especial 
attention  to  the  incident,  but  now,  with  a  swift  pang, 
there  came  back  to  his  recollection  even  the  rain- 
drops that  had  glistened  on  her  hair,  and  the  tone 
of  obvious  embarrassment  in  which  she  had  answered 
her  mother's  questions.  Getting  up  from  his  chair 
he  made  one  step  towards  the  trunk  of  the  nut-tree, 
and  stood  leaning  there  with  fast-beating  heart.  He 
had  felt  it  necessary  to  make  a  movement  of  some 
sort.  The  network  of  proof  seemed  to  be  joining  its 
meshes  around  him,  and  the  mere  fact  of  sitting  still 
increased  the  dreadful  sense  of  helplessness.  He 
took  out  his  handkerchief  and  passed  it  across  his 
forehead  ;  there  was  a  dampness  there  which  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  abnormal  heat  of  the  day, 
which  was  not  hot,  but  lay  coldly  clammy  about 
his  temples.  Suddenly  he  heard  Hypolit's  dry  laugh 
beside  him. 

'  Really,  Gregor,  allow  me  to  use  the  privilege  of 
an  old  acquaintance  to  say  that  you  are  the  greatest 
simpleton  I  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing.  Are  you 
aware  that  you  have  grown  as  white  as  that  butter- 
fly on  the  cabbage-leaf?' 

'  Then  you  are  making  fun  of  me  ? ' 

'Indeed  I  am  not;  but  I  am  observing  you 
with  the  greatest  interest,  and,  let  me  say  so,  the 
sincerest  pity.  Do  you  know  what  you  are  for  me 


220        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

at  this  moment  ?  Not  Gregor  Petrow  at  all,  but  the 
embodiment  of  the  old  theories  which  we  are  making 
ready  to  throw  overboard.' 

'We?' 

'  Yes ;  Fredrich  Nietsche,  and  those  who  follow 
the  new  light.  Every  man  for  himself,  and  away 
with  the  weakling  Pity,  which  has  only  been  invented 
to  be  pushed  into  the  place  of  Force,  by  men  who 
had  no  force.  No  obligation  towards  anything  or 
anybody,  except,  of  course,  towards  the  police 
authorities,  so  long  as  rotten  institutions  continue 
to  exist.  No  obligation  ?  What  do  I  say  ?  Rather 
the  obligation  to  tread  down  everything  and  every- 
body that  stands  in  your  way.  It  is  only  by  every 
man  doing  the  best  he  can  for  himself,  physically 
and  intellectually,  that  he  can  become  a  true  bene- 
factor of  his  race.  These  are  the  new  truths,  my 
friend  ;  those  which  in  a  few  years  will  have  upset 
the  old  world.' 

With  wide-open,  blue  eyes,  Gregor,  still  leaning 
against  the  tree,  listened  speechless  ;  and  as  in  all 
moments  of  consternation,  his  reddish  fair  hair 
seemed  to  be  standing  almost  upright  above  his 
forehead. 

'  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by  new  truths,' 
he  said  at  last  simply.  '  Truth  cannot  be  new ;  I 
only  know  of  one  truth,  and  that  is  older  than  the 
world.' 

But  Hypolit  had  got  too  deep  into  his  subject  to 
heed  him. 

'  And  just  look  at  the  disadvantages  of  your  point 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         221 

of  view  ! '  he  pursued,  with  eyes  which  now  sparkled 
with  eagerness.  '  There  is  a  man  ready  to  faint  with 
horror  because  I  tell  him  that  his  wife  loves  him  well 
enough  to  commit  what  your  school  calls  a  crime,  but 
what  my  school  calls  the  one  obvious  thing  she  had 
to  do,  so  long  as  she  felt  that  she  could  not  live 
without  you,  always  supposing  that  she  had  a 
reasonable  chance  of  escaping  the  arm  of  what  has 
idiotically  been  dubbed  justice.  Yes,  I  pity  you, 
Gregor,  I  pity  you  ;  you  are  suffering  from  the 
disease  called  "  morality,"  which  our  Master  desig- 
nated as  the  most  fatal  kind  of  ignorance.  Put  me 
in  your  place,  and  catch  me  cankering  my  mind  by 
scruples !  Catch  me  doing  anything  but  drinking 
full-throated  from  the  cup  of  enjoyment  offered 
me!' 

'  These  words  are  not  for  me,'  said  Gregor,  in  deep 
perplexity.  '  I  understand  them  only  enough  to 
understand  that  they  are  blasphemous.  Let  us  not 
begin  these  discussions — it  is  certain  that  we  can 
never  agree ;  but  tell  me  only  what  I  want  to  hear, 
and  leave  me  to  bear  it  in  my  own  way.' 

'  But  what  do  you  want  to  hear  exactly  ? ' 

'  One  thing  or  the  other ;  that  she  is  innocent,  or 
that  she  is  guilty.  Certainty,  I  can  bear — certainty 
of  any  sort;  it  is  doubt  that  is  killing  me.  Help  me 
to  find  that  certainty.' 

'  And  when  you  have  found  it  ? ' 

'  I  shall  push  her  from  me  ;  I  shall  denounce  her  ! ' 
cried  Gregor,  with  suddenly  flaming  eyes. 

'  Then   you  should  denounce  yourself  with   her  ; 


222         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

since  you  were  the  primary  cause  of  what  it  pleases 
you  to  call  a  crime.' 

With  a  groan  Gregor  turned  his  face  towards  the 
rough  tree-trunk.  This  was  a  truth  which  had 
formed  part  of  his  torture  of  the  last  weeks. 

'  That  is  true  ;  I  am  more  guilty  than  she  is  ;  no, 
I  cannot  denounce  her ;  perhaps  I  cannot  even  send 
her  from  my  house  ;  but  she  shall  become  a  stranger 
to  me, — if  she  has  done  it.  But  it  may  yet  be  that 
she  has  not  done  it.  Ah,  my  God,  how  get  away  from 
that  doubt  ?  Hypolit,  help  me  to  know — not  to  guess, 
but  to  know  ! ' 

Hypolit's  eyes  were  upon  the  path,  at  the  end  of 
which  Zenobia  had  just  become  visible,  with  a  tray 
of  glasses  carefully  balanced  in  her  hands. 

'  I  will  help  you,'  he  said,  without  looking  at 
Gregor. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

IF  on  that  hot  July  afternoon  when  he  had  called 
out  aloud  for  the  deliverance  of  certainty,  any 
one  had  told  Gregor  that  at  the  end  of  two  months  he 
would  not  yet  have  attained  that  certainty,  and  yet 
would  neither  have  lost  his  reason  nor  his  life,  he 
would  have  denied  the  possibility ;  but  so  it  was. 
As  in  July  he  had  eaten  and  slept,  and  risen  and 
lain  down,  automatically  fulfilling  his  duties  the 
while,  without  knowing  whether  the  woman  at  his 
side  were  a  criminal  or  a  martyr  to  calumny,  so  it 
was  in  September.  Hypolit  had  not  broken  his 
promise,  but  apparently  it  lay  beyond  his  power  to 
keep  it  to  the  letter.  The  grounds  for  suspicion, 
indeed,  were  accumulating — brought  to  him  one  by 
one  by  the  medical  student.  From  the  servant-girl 
Hania  he  had  found  out  that  Zenobia  undoubtedly 
knew  not  only  Ursula  Adamicz's  address,  but  also 
that  she  sold  poison.  It  was  Hania  herself  who  had 
given  her  the  information  one  evening  in  the  orchard, 
as  she  distinctly  remembered. 

'  Then  the  simplest  thing  would  be  to  ask  Ursula 
Adamicz  herself,'  Gregor  had  suggested,  on  hearing 

223 


this.  '  There  might  be  ways  of  inducing  her  to  say 
whether  she  sold  arsenic  to  Zenia  or  not.' 

'  If  she  were  in  the  country  there  might  be  ways, 
but  she  left  the  country  immediately  after  Wasylya's 
death.' 

Gregor  groaned  aloud  ;  a  new  proof  this  ! 

'  The  girl  is  a  goose,  of  course,'  added  Hypolit, 
'  but  she  is  quite  positive  about  her  conversation 
with  Zenobia.  She  told  me  that  she  had  burned  six 
candles  in  church  since  Wasylya's  death,  in  order 
to  atone  for  her  own  responsibility  in  the  matter. 
She  thinks  that  if  she  had  not  mentioned  the  poison 
Zenobia  might  not  have  had  the  idea.  And  I  had 
to  swear  not  to  betray  her  ;  she  is  evidently  haunted 
by  the  terror  of  being  beaten  to  death  by  the  Popadia 
if  it  comes  out  that  she  has  had  any  dealings  with 
Ursula  Adamicz.' 

In  the  course  of  these  two  months  Gregor  had 
the  opportunity  of  convincing  himself  that  the 
narrow-minded  mother  was  the  only  member  of  the 
family  who  even  pretended  to  believe  in  Zenobia's 
innocence.  This  was  on  an  occasion  when  the 
Popadia,  with  her  youngest  daughter,  had  come 
over  to  spend  the  day  at  Rubience.  In  Paraska's 
eyes  Gregor  immediately  noticed  that  same  look  of 
terrified  curiosity  that  he  had  seen  so  plainly  in  the 
streets  of  Lussyatyn,  only  that  here  it  was  mingled 
with  a  certain  sense  of  personal  importance,  for, 
after  all,  it  is  not  everybody  who  has  a  sister  accused 
of  so  imposing  a  crime.  But  the  most  painful 
moment  to  Gregor  was  when,  refreshments  having 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         225 

been  brought  out  under  the  nut-tree,  the  girl  hastily, 
and  in  evident  embarrassment,  declined  the  glass 
of  raspberry  juice  prepared  by  Zenobia. 

'  Why  did  you  not  drink  the  juice  ? '  he  asked,  with 
unwonted  sharpness,  the  first  moment  that  he  found 
himself  alone  with  her. 

'  I  don't  like  it — no,  I  mean  it  reminds  me  too 
much,'  stammered  Paraska,  turning  scarlet. 

'Of  what?' 

'  Of — of  the  way  Wasia  died.  You  know/  she 
whispered,  raising  her  awe-stricken  eyes  to  his  face, 
'  they  say  she  did  it  with  raspberry  juice.' 

Gregor  almost  glared  at  the  girl,  as  he  flung  away 
from  her  side.  So  this  child,  too,  found  it  possible  to 
believe !  And  he  remembered  the  glass  quite  well 
which  Zenobia  had  brought  into  the  room  on  the 
eve  of  the  catastrophe.  Had  that  been  the  deadly 
potion  ? — no  wonder,  then,  that  her  hand  had  trembled 
so  as  she  handed  it  to  her  sister ;  or  had  it  been  in 
that  other  glass  which  he  had  seen  standing  empty 
by  the  bedside  on  the  morning  of  the  catastrophe, 
and  whose  image,  with  the  sticky  rim  and  the  flies 
crawling  in  and  out  of  it,  had  been  photographed 
on  his  memory  with  all  the  intensity  that  belongs  to 
moments  of  strong  emotion? 

Yes,  the  proofs  were  standing  thick  by  this  time, 
and  all  on  one  side,  while  on  the  other  there  remained 
nothing,  absolutely  nothing  but  the  difficulty  of  belief 
engendered  by  the  sheer  horror  of  the  thing.  Yet 
with  all  the  horror  there  was  one  side  of  Gregor's 
consciousness  that  was  not  only  prepared,  that 
p 


226        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

wanted  to  be  convinced  of  Zenobia's  guilt,  and  this 
in  order  to  be  able  to  wreak  its  own  pain  on  some- 
body— the  pain  which  had  never  left  him  since  his 
visit  to  the  churchyard  ;  while  the  other,  healthier, 
more  natural  side,  yearned  for  deliverance  from  these 
wearing  emotions,  and  towards  the  final  recovery  of 
his  whole  plan  of  life.  But  it  was  the  morbid  side 
which  held  the  upper  hand.  The  dead  Wasylya, 
who  had  seemed  to  follow  him  out  of  the  churchyard 
gate,  now  stood  for  ever  between  his  wife  and  him- 
self; and  in  her  phantom  presence  the  personal 
aversion,  born  of  suspicion,  grew  large.  Together 
with  the  sullen  reserve  of  Zenobia's  attitude,  it  made 
the  hope  of  a  frank  understanding  between  husband 
and  wife  more  hopeless  day  by  day,  as  Hypolit, 
who  imperceptibly  had  become  a  frequent  visitor, 
carefully  marked.  The  part  Hypolit  had  had  to 
play  so  far  had  come  to  him  easily  enough  :  there 
had  in  reality  been  little  else  to  do  but  to  answer 
Gregor's  questions ;  nor  any  need  to  do  more,  since 
Gregor's  peasant  mistrustfulness,  once  set  agoing, 
worked  on  by  itself,  boring  and  boring  for  proofs, 
and  having  grown  so  enamoured  of  the  hole  it  was 
boring  as  to  put  its  eyes  and  its  whole  soul  into  it, 
and  to  forget  to  look  up  and  around  it,  wrapped  up 
in  one  idea,  as  is  the  way  with  natures  that  are  both 
narrow  and  deep. 

The  summer  having  passed  without  outward 
events,  the  autumn  brought  a  blow,  the  news  of 
Father  Nikodem's  death, — sudden,  yet  not  quite 
unexpected,  for  his  health  had  obviously  been  failing 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         227 

since  spring.  It  was  in  the  village  street  that  Gregor 
met  the  messenger  from  Hlobaki,  and  remained  for 
a  while  rooted  to  the  spot  with  the  open  letter  in 
his  hand. 

'  It  is  her  guilt  that  has  killed  him,'  he  said  to 
himself  when  the  first  consternation  was  passed. 
'  He  has  died  of  his  suspicions — no,  of  his  convic- 
tions ;  they  must  have  been  convictions  to  kill  him 
so  quickly.' 

And  in  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  reproachful  indigna- 
tion, he  almost  ran  back  to  the  house,  and  searched 
breathlessly  for  Zenobia,  until  he  found  her  under 
the  nut-tree,  whose  breadth  almost  blocked  the 
narrow  garden,  with  a  large  basket  beside  her, 
collecting  the  nuts  which  a  high  wind  had  shaken 
down  in  the  night.  Bursting  from  their  green  husks, 
they  scattered  the  earth,  with  here  and  there  a 
yellowing  leaf  among  them. 

Gregor's  first  impulse,  one  of  almost  brutal 
spite,  had  been  to  say  :  '  Your  father  is  dead ' ; 
but  at  sight  of  her,  and  at  the  remembrance  of 
her  state  of  health,  he  controlled  himself  sufficiently 
to  remark. 

'  There  is  bad  news  from  Hlobaki.' 

She  straightened  herself  out  of  her  stooping  posture 
to  ask  quickly — 

1  My  father  ? ' 

'  Yes,  your  father.' 

'  Not  dead  ? '  she  asked,  her  eyes  growing  large 
with  apprehension. 

Gregor  nodded.      He  knew  that   if  he  spoke  at 


228         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

once  the  feeling  of  spite,  which  was  his  chief  sensa- 
tion at  the  moment,  would  appear  too  plainly. 

Zenobia  sat  down  quickly  on  the  chair  beside  her, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

'  That  it  should  have  come  so  quickly ! '  she  said, 
in  a  stifled  voice. 

'  Grief  kills  quickly,  and  he  has  been  unhappy 
since  last  autumn.' 

She  remained  for  a  moment  longer  quite  still,  then 
her  hands  dropped. 

'  You  are  cruel,  Gregor,'  she  said,  in  deep  agitation. 
'  God  is  not  so  cruel  as  you.  If  I  have  been  wicked, 
I  have  suffered  for  it.' 

She  had  risen  as  she  spoke,  and,  with  the  last 
word,  stretched  out  her  hand  almost  timidly  to  lay 
it  upon  his  arm  ;  but  it  did  not  touch  it,  for  Gregor 
had  stepped  back,  gazing  at  her  with  horror-stricken 
eyes.  Was  that  not  a  confession  which  he  had  heard 
from  her  lips  ?  And  this  woman  wanted  to  touch  him  ! 

'  Leave  me — leave  me ! '  he  said  incoherently,  as 
he  turned  away  and  began  walking  rapidly  towards 
the  house.  Within  the  first  dozen  paces  he  brushed 
against  something,  and  only  with  difficulty,  in  such 
tumult  had  his  thoughts  been  thrown,  recognised 
Hypolit  Jarewicz.  He  murmured  some  excuse  and 
passed  him  quickly,  having  only  vaguely  wondered 
why  Hypolit  was  looking  so  yellow,  and  why  he 
threw  aside  his  cigarette  with  so  vehement  a  gesture. 

Zenobia  was  still  standing  under  the  nut-tree, 
beside  the  basket  half  filled  with  nuts,  when  Hypolit 
reached  her,  and  she  was  still  obviously  struggling 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        229 

for  composure.  At  a  glance  Hypolit  saw  the  oppor- 
tunity which  for  two  months  he  had  waited  for. 
He  had  not  always  felt  quite  certain  that  when  the 
opportunity  came  he  would  avail  himself  of  it.  It 
is  one  thing  to  proclaim  Nietsche's  principles,  and 
quite  another  thing  to  act  up  to  them  in  real  life ; 
and  loudly  though  he  might  cry  to  himself  with 
Zarathustra  to  '  Become  hard  !  become  hard  ! '  and 
to  throw  all  feeling  of  moral  obligation  to  the  winds, 
there  yet  were  moments  when  he  would  feel  himself 
clogged  by  the  traditions  of  that  old  morality  in 
which  he  had  been  brought  up,  entangled,  as  it  were, 
in  that  worn-out  garment  so  supremely  scorned,  but 
which  still  hung  together  sufficiently  to  seriously 
hamper  his  movements.  Enthusiastically  though  he 
approved  the  Master's  preaching,  it  required  the 
impetus  of  passion  to  carry  him  quite  up  to  its 
height. 

To-day  the  impetus  was  there  ;  neither  doubt  nor 
scruple  disturbed  his  mind  as  he  stood  before  Zenobia, 
with  twitching  mouth  and  burning  eyes. 

'  Don't,'  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  uneven  with 
excitement.  '  Don't  do  what  you  are  going  to  do  ! 
Don't  try  and  put  on  your  everyday  face  ;  don't  tell 
me  that  nothing  has  happened — I  wouldn't  believe 
you.  I  did  not  hear  what  he  said  to  you,  but  I  saw 
his  gesture — that  was  enough.  Zenia,  Zenia,  is  it 
possible  that  you  should  still  love  this  man  who 
pushes  you  from  him  ?  who  has  no  understanding 
for  you  ?  who  prefers  the  laws  of  a  stupid  morality  to 
such  a  love  as  you  are  able  to  give?' 


23o        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Zenobia  had  instinctively  moved  a  little  away, 
gathering  about  her  the  grey  shawl  which  hung  upon 
her  shoulders.  Her  great  black  eyes,  still  open  to 
their  fullest,  were  fixed  upon  Hypolit's  face  in  a 
mixture  of  astonishment  and  perplexity. 

'  I  don't  understand,'  she  said,  still  obviously 
agitated. 

'  Is  it  possible  that  you  fail  to  see  that  your  husband 
is  turning  from  you  ?  He  will  never  forgive  you  for 
the  past, — never,  Zenia,  never !  To  him  you  are  a 
criminal,  a  sinner,  while  to  me  you  are  a  heroine  ! ' 

He  would  have  moved  nearer  to  her,  but  something 
in  her  eyes  stopped  him. 

'  Now  I  understand,'  she  said,  while  the  agitation 
on  her  face  sank  suddenly  into  a  cold,  an  awful 
severity,  just  as  the  heavy  eyelids  sank  down  to  half 
conceal  the  eyes.  '  You  are  making  love  to  me  ;  is 
that  not  it  ? ' 

'  You  know  that  I  have  always  loved  you,  Zenia,' 
murmured  Hypolit,  half  choked  ;  before  the  coldness 
on  her  face,  even  his  supreme  audacity  stood  aghast. 

'And  you  f dare  to  tell  me  this  to-day,  to-day -? 
My  father  died  yesterday,  my  child  may  be  born 
to-morrow,  and  this  is  the  moment  you  choose  for 
talking  to  me  of  sinful  passion  ?  Oh,  go  away  !  Go  ! 
But  no,  stop  a  minute  longer  until  I  explain.  You 
must  not  think  that  if  you  come  back  another  day 
my  answer  will  be  different.  Whatever  day  you  choose 
it  would  always  be  the  same,  and  it  is,  that  I  never 
loved  any  man  but  my  husband,  and  could  never 
love  any  other.  I  would  rather  be  his  servant  than 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        231 

another  man's  cherished  mistress  ;  I  would  sooner 
hear  hard  words  from  his  mouth  than  soft  ones  from 
yours,  or  any  other  man's  ! ' 

'  But  he  does  not  love  you,  and  I  do!'  cried  Hypolit, 
in  a  voice  which  rang  with  real  despair. 

4 1  did  not  say  that  he  loved  me,  only  that  I  loved 
him.  As  for  you,  you  have  never  been  anything  to 
me  but  an  acquaintance,  a  former  playmate ;  but 
you  shall  not  be  even  that  from  to-day.  I  do  not 
want  to  see  you  ever  again — ever !  Go  away,  I  tell 
you,  and  do  not  come  back  again  ! ' 

Hypolit,  white  to  the  lips  with  the  rage  of  humilia- 
tion, raised  his  head.  He  thought  he  was  going  to 
retort,  passionately,  vehemently ;  but  before  he  had 
brought  out  a  word,  something  made  him  look  to- 
wards the  paling,  and  there,  peering  over  the  top, 
with  puffed-out  cheeks,  and  eyes  round  with  astonish- 
ment, was  a  chubby  child's  face — a  witness  too  young 
to  be  inconvenient,  and  yet  sufficient  to  remind 
Hypolit  that  this  was  scarcely  the  place,  sandwiched 
as  they  were  between  two  gardens,  to  make  love  to 
one's  neighbour's  wife.  Without  another  word  he 
turned  and  went,  furious  with  himself  for  obeying, 
and  yet  intimately  convinced  that  there  was  nothing 
else  to  be  done,  for  by  the  helpless  twitching  of  the 
muscles  of  his  cheek  he  knew  that  he  had  lost  control, 
not  only  over  his  thoughts  but  also  over  his  nerves. 
There  could  be  no  object  in  exposing  this  pitiable 
spectacle  any  longer,  either  to  Zenobia  or  to  that 
inquisitive  brat  over  there ;  it  was  best  to  retreat 
before  the  moral  rout  became  too  apparent,  and  he 


232         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

therefore  went,  leaving  Zenobia  alone  under  the  nut- 
tree  in  the  midst  of  the  devastated  garden,  in  which 
the  cabbages  had  already  been  cut  from  their  stalks, 
and  where  the  paths  had  been  strewn  with  fading 
nut-leaves  by  last  night's  storm. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

WHEN,  two  days  later,  Gregor,  returning  from 
his  father-in-law's  funeral,  alighted  at  his 
own  door,  he  was  met  by  an  elderly  woman,  whose 
face  he  did  not  recognise. 

'  The  Lord  God  has  been  merciful/  this  stranger 
said  to  him,  with  an  unmistakable  air  of  personal 
importance  ;  '  she  is  doing  well.' 

'  Who  is  doing  well  ? '  asked  Gregor,  extricating 
himself  with  difficulty  from  the  lugubrious  train  of 
thought  into  which  he  had  fallen  during  his  drive. 

'Your  wife,  Father  Gregor.  It  is-  my  good  fortune 
to  announce  to  you  that  you  have  a  son, — a  little 
before  the  time,  it  is  true.  No  doubt  it  was  the  bad 
news  that  did  it ;  but,  with  God's  help,  all  is  going 
as  it  should.' 

Gregor  looked  at  her  with  vacant  eyes,  into  which 
gradually  there  came  first  understanding  and  then 
something  like  excitement. 

'I  have  a  son?'  he  repeated,  with  as  blank  an 
astonishment  as  though  the  idea  of  such  a  possibility 
were  not  more  than  a  minute  old. 

'  And  as  fine  a  one  as  ever  rejoiced  father's  heart. 
Come  and  see  him,  Father  Gregor ;  why  are  you  still 

233 


234        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

sitting  there?  The  Pani  has  been  waiting  for  you 
this  last  hour.' 

Leaving  the  reins  on  the  horse's  back,  Gregor 
descended  precipitately  from  the  vehicle,  and,  with- 
out another  question,  followed  his  petticoated  guide. 
Without  her  guidance  it  is  even  possible  that  he 
would  not  have  found  his  way  to  the  bedroom,  for 
his  gait  was  that  of  a  man  who  has  received  a  blow 
on  the  head. 

In  the  room,  flooded  with  autumn  sunshine,  Ze- 
nobia  lay,  her  eyes  fixed  impatiently  on  the  door  ; 
and  beside  her  lay  something  carefully  sheltered 
from  the  sunshine  by  a  muslin  curtain,  which  was 
flung  over  it.  Gregor  walked  close  up  to  the  bed 
without  seeing  anything  but  that  muslin  curtain, 
without  even  properly  seeing  Zenobia,  until  he  felt 
fingers  closing  over  his  hand. 

'  Gregor — oh,  I  am  so  happy — he  is  just  like  you  ! ' 
she  said,  in  a  voice  which  he  had  never  heard  before. 

Then  he  also  saw  her  face  as  he  had  never  seen 
it — radiant,  with  a  mildness  about  the  mouth,  a 
subdued,  yet  penetrating  light  in  the  eyes  which 
wonderfully  transformed  it.  She  had  never  appeared 
to  him  so  young  as  at  this  moment,  and  for  the  first 
time  it  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  after  all  she 
was  beautiful. 

'You  must  not  touch  him,  he  is  asleep.  Don't 
bend  too  low,  your  breath  might  awake  him.' 

As  she  cautiously  lifted  a  corner  of  the  muslin 
cover,  Gregor  with  difficulty  restrained  an  exclama- 
tion which  was  not  one  of  admiration.  Instead  of 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        235 

rapture  his  first  sensation  was  far  more  like  con- 
sternation. Exactly  like  him  ?  How  little  we  know 
ourselves,  to  be  sure  !  Never  would  he  have  supposed 
that  any  likeness  could  exist  between  his  own 
countenance  and  this  small,  deep-red  face,  of  which 
it  seemed  so  much  more  probable  that  it  was  made 
of  india-rubber  than  of  human  flesh  and  blood,  like 
one  of  those  toy  faces  that  children  love  to  squeeze 
into  innumerable  wrinkles.  But  while  he  stared  at 
it  stupidly,  the  tiny  eyelids  opened  and  he  met  his 
own  clear  blue  eyes,  unmistakably  his,  only  in  a 
miniature  edition,  staring  back  into  his  face  with  an 
astonishment  obviously  as  great  as  his  own. 

'  Oh,  he  is  awake  ;  now  you  can  see  what  he  really 
is  like/  and  Zenobia  shifted  her  position.  '  What  do 
you  say  to  him,  Gregor  ? ' 

Gregor  said  nothing.  A  series  of  sensations  that 
were  quite  new,  and  consequently  not  recognisable, 
were  chasing  each  other  through  his  soul.  Back 
through  many  years,  back  to  the  days  when  he  used 
to  sit  alone  in  his  mud-paved  room,  listening  to  the 
cries  of  the  peasant  children  outside,  and  wondering 
whether  he  would  ever  attain  a  domesticity  of  his 
own,  that  little  red  face  on  the  pillow  had  carried 
him,  and  if  he  did  not  speak  now,  it  was  principally 
because  he  was  not  sure  of  what  might  happen  to  his 
voice. 

'Are  you  happy,  Gregor?'  he  heard  Zenobia  ask- 
ing, right  through  the  memory-trance  into  which  he 
had  fallen.  Just  then  the  door  closed  behind  the 
woman,  who  had  gone  out  to  fetch  water,  and  at  the 


236         THE  SUPREME   CRIME 

same  moment  Zenobia  put  out  her  hand  again  and 
pulled  him  down  beside  her. 

'  Gregor,'  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  through 
and  through ;  '  there  must  be  no  more  cloud  between 
us  !  We  have  this  to  hold  us  together  now,  and 
nothing  else  must  come  between.  I  know  what  you 
believe  of  me,  but  it  is  not  true.  I  did  not  do  it ; 
things  look  bad  against  me,  but  I  did  not  do  it.  Do 
not  believe  what  they  say  ! ' 

Gregor  had  started  upright  at  the  first  word. 

'  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  long  ago  ? '  he  asked, 
having  struggled  for  breath  for  a  moment. 

'  I  should  have,  but  I  was  angry,  too  angry  to 
speak  ;  even  as  a  child  I  used  to  be  obstinate,  but  I 
have  been  punished  enough.  I  did  not  mean  to 
speak  unless  you  asked  me,  but  now  I  am  too  happy 
to  be  silent.  I  am  innocent,  Gregor ;  you  believe 
me,  do  you  not  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  I  believe  you  ! '  said  Gregor,  as,  sinking  to 
his  knees,  he  hid  his  face  in  the  coverlet.  The  joy 
of  the  deliverance  was  so  great  as  to  be  almost  a 
pain,  and,  pressed  against  the  coverlet,  he  felt  how 
his  face  was  growing  wet  and  hot.  The  burden 
which  he  had  carried  with  him  since  that  awful  Palm 
Sunday  was  taken  from  him  at  last,  so  quickly,  so 
easily  and  definitely,  as,  in  this  moment  of  nervous 
exaltation,  he  did  not  doubt.  The  natural  instincts 
of  the  natural  man  within  him  had,  with  one  leap, 
taken  the  upper  hand.  That  life  of  quiet  domesticity, 
which  had  once  been  his  ideal,  seemed  again  within 
his  reach.  In  one  instant  all  the  cankering  doubts 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         237 

seemed  gone,  withered  away  under  the  new  radiancy 
of  Zenobia's  eyes.  What  was  it  that  had  tormented 
him  for  so  long,  and  which  yet  a  few  words  could 
take  from  him  ? 

'  Oh,  thank  you  for  having  spoken  ! '  he  whispered, 
pressing  his  trembling  lips  upon  Zenobia's  hand. 
'  But  this  is  enough.  We  shall  never  speak  of  it 
again — never  ! ' 

'  Never,  unless  you  want  it ! '  said  Zenobia,  smiling 
a  little  faintly,  for  to  her,  too,  the  last  few  minutes 
had  been  mentally  exhausting. 

The  two  weeks  which  followed  upon  his  return 
from  Father  Nikodem's  funeral  were  for  Gregor  a 
time  of  almost  perfect  happiness,  mixed  perhaps 
with  a  little  too  much  mental  excitement  for  every- 
day life,  and  yet  among  the  brightest  weeks  he 
remembered.  The  natural  man  within  him  was 
taking  possession  of  his  rights  now,  and  if  he  did  so 
a  little  more  precipitately,  a  little  more  feverishly 
than  would  have  been  necessary,  this  was  chiefly 
attributable  to  the  long  time  he  had  been  kept 
from  them.  Beside  the  wrinkled  baby  face  even 
Wasylya's  features  began  to  fade,  while  day  by  day 
new  graces  were  discovered  in  the  baby's  mother,  by 
an  eye  determined  to  discover  them.  Once  again 
he  could  stand  at  the  altar  without  that  black 
spectre  of  suspicion  by  his  side,  and  without  feeling 
that  his  share  in  the  guilt  made  him  unworthy  to 
stand  there.  '  The  Pope's  voice  has  grown  clearer,' 
the  peasants  said  to  each  other  after  Sunday 


238        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Mass  ;  '  he  sings  everything  now  as  though  it  were 
a  Hallelujah.' 

Other  people  besides  the  peasants  noticed  the 
change.  Hypolit  Jarewicz  was  not  among  the  last 
to  do  so.  It  was  in  the  street  of  Lussyatyn  that 
they  met  for  the  first  time  since  the  day  on  which 
they  had  brushed  past  each  other  in  Gregor's 
garden. 

These  two  weeks,  which  had  been  to  Gregor  so 
delicious,  had  been  for  Hypolit  the  worst  two  weeks 
in  the  history  of  his  quite  illogical  passion  for 
Zenobia.  Although  outwardly  his  family  noticed 
only  that  he  was  in  a  somewhat  more  biting  humour 
than  usual,  these  fourteen  days  had,  in  fact,  been  one 
long  paroxysm  of  masked  rage.  To  remember  the 
part  he  had  played  that  day  under  the  nut-tree  was 
to  writhe  in  impotent  fury.  Why  was  it  that  this 
woman,  of  all  others,  should  possess  the  power  of 
so  utterly  overthrowing  a  self-control  which  knew 
itself  to  be  far  above  the  average  ?  of  making  him 
feel  so  pitiably  small,  and  slight,  and  incompetent, 
both  physically  and  morally  ?  A  sense  of  personal 
humiliation  had  always  been  mixed  up  with  his 
passion ;  and  now,  when  he  thought  of  the  way  he 
had  walked  away  at  her  command,  'positively  like  a 
whipped  dog,'  he  said  to  himself,  and  with  that 
open-mouthed  child's  face  by  the  paling  seeming  to 
add  the  last  touch  of  ignominy  to  the  situation,  he 
ground  his  teeth  and  clutched  at  his  temples.  He 
knew  for  certain  that  he  had  done  nothing  to  be 
reasonably  ashamed  of,  nothing  that  Friedrich 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        239 

Nietsche  could  have  disapproved  of.  What  was  it, 
then,  that  made  him  feel  so  desperately  small  ? 

And  he  had  nothing  to  say  for  himself  either  ; 
every  word  he  had  stammered  might  have  been 
brought  out  by  the  veriest  schoolboy  gasping  in  the 
grip  of  his  first  calf-love.  Oh  for  the  means  of 
satisfying  his  mangled  vanity !  of  taking  revenge 
where  it  was  due  ! 

It  was  with  these  thoughts  in  his  mind  that  he 
met  Gregor  in  the  street,  and  immediately  noted  the 
new  light  on  his  face. 

'  I  am  late  in  presenting  my  felicitations,'  he 
began,  with  elaborate  politeness,  his  white  teeth 
gleaming  under  his  thin  moustache. 

'  Yes,  he  is  a  fine  child, — at  least  that  is  what  they 
assure  me,  though  personally  I  doubt  whether  I 
should  have  discovered  it  myself ;  and  Gregor 
laughed  more  heartily  than  was  his  wont. 

'  It 's  quite  a  change  to  see  you  in  such  good  spirits,' 
said  Hypolit,  jealously  watching  the  other's  face. 
'  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  a  second  congratulation 
to  offer.  I  see  that  you  have  at  last  accepted  those 
principles  of  philosophy  which  I  have  so  often 
brought  under  your  notice.' 

'  How  is  that  ? ' 

'  Why,  it  is  only  that  I  take  to  myself  part  of  the 
credit  of  your  present  most  reasonable  frame  of 
mind.  Have  I  not  told  you  all  along  that  it  was 
foolish  to  let  your  life  be  spoiled  by  a  mere  idea — 
and  an  exploded  one,  too  ? ' 

'  I  know  what  you  mean  now,'  said  Gregor  gravely, 


24o        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  but  you  are  mistaken  there.  I  was  coming  to  tell 
you  so.  We  have  been  on  a  wrong  track,  Hypolit, 
all  along, — she  did  not  do  it.' 

'  On  whose  testimony  do  you  say  this  ? ' 

'  Upon  her  own  ;  she  has  given  me  the  most 
solemn  assurance.' 

Hypolit  burst  into  his  own  peculiar,  cackling 
laugh. 

'  O  Gregor !  is  your  simplicity  genuine,  or  is  it 
only  put  on  ?  You  did  not  expect  her  to  assure  you 
of  her  guilt,  did  you  ? ' 

'  But  the  way  she  did  it, — her  eyes !  No,  no,  I 
believe  her ! ' 

Hypolit  went  on  laughing,  under  his  breath  now, 
but  in  a  way  that  began  to  get  on  Gregor's 
nerves. 

'  You  mean  to  say  that  you  can  still  doubt  it,  after 
her  solemn  denial?'  he  asked  impatiently.  'You 
can  still  think  that ' 

Hypolit  looked  about  him.  '  I  will  tell  you  what 
I  think,  but  not  here.  We  are  close  to  our  house : 
come  in  with  me,  and  we  can  talk.' 

They  were,  in  fact,  at  only  about  fifty  paces  from 
the  Jarewiczs'  house.  Hypolit  led  Gregor  to  the  back 
door,  and  from  there  down  a  passage  into  his  own 
private  apartment,  which  was  likewise  a  species  of  im- 
provised laboratory,  where  even  during  the  vacation 
time  the  medical  student  eagerly  pursued  his  studies. 
A  mixture  of  modern  luxury  and  scientific  rigour 
marked  the  large  and  airy  room,  where  a  carved 
bedstead,  with  a  flaming  orange  satin  cover,  stood  in 


one  corner,  and  a  complete  skeleton  unblushingly 
occupied  another,  where  French  novels  lay  side  by 
side  with  ponderous  volumes  of  science,  where  un- 
canny-looking instruments  flashed  out  of  half-open 
drawers,  and  still  more  uncanny-looking  bottles,  with 
mysterious  contents,  stood  ranged  upon  shelves 
against  the  wall. 

'  Sit  down,'  said  Hypolit,  taking  off  his  hat,  and 
sticking  it  on  to  the  head  of  the  skeleton,  where  it 
sat  rakishly  cocked  on  one  side. 

'  There  is  no  need  to  sit  down  that  I  can  see,'  said 
Gregor  stiffly,  standing  still  in  the  middle  of  the 
apartment.  '  You  cannot  have  much  to  say  to  me, 
and  I  have  told  you  that  my  mind  is  made  up  on  the 
subject  of  my  wife's  innocence.' 

Hypolit  took  a  turn  round  the  room,  shutting  a 
drawer  here  and  there,  or  pushing  back  a  book  into 
its  place.  '  Can  she  have  told  him  ? '  he  asked  him- 
self, struck  by  this  new  primness. 

'  If  you  are  convinced  of  her  innocence,'  he  said 
aloud,  after  a  moment,  'then  you  must  feel  that 
you  owe  her  no  end  of  a  reparation.  I  wager  that 
it  is  only  now  that  your  real  honeymoon  is  be- 
ginning ! ' 

'  She  has  certainly  never  been  to  me  what  she  is 
now,'  said  Gregor  simply. 

Hypolit's  foot  at  that  moment  knocked  against 
the  elegantly  inlaid  bootjack,  which  was  lying  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor.  He  kicked  it  almost  savagely 
under  the  bed  as  he  replied — 

'  Then,  since  it  seems  that  to-day  is  to  be  a  day  of 
Q 


242        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

congratulations,  all  that  remains  to  me  is  to  con- 
gratulate you  on  the  perfection  of  your  childlike 
faith.' 

'  Thank  you,'  said  Gregor,  with  some  heat.  '  I 
think  that  is  all  we  can  have  to  say  to  each  other 
to-day.' 

He  walked  rapidly  towards  the  door,  but  before 
reaching  it  his  step  faltered. 

'  This  cannot  satisfy  me,  Hypolit.  It  is  not  enough 
that  you  should  leave  me  my  faith  ;  I  want  to  hear 
also  that  you  share  it.  I  cannot  hope  to  convince 
every  one,  of  course ;  but  you,  who  have  been  so  close 
to  the  matter  all  summer,  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
that  you  should  still  believe  this  frightful  thing  of 
Zenia.' 

'  No,  she  has  not  told  him,'  passed  through 
Hypolit's  mind,  as  in  silence  he  continued  his  uneasy 
perambulations. 

'  Why  do  you  say  nothing  ? '  asked  Gregor,  in  a 
tone  in  which  the  first  note  of  agitation  was  to  be 
distinguished. 

Hypolit  faced  round,  with  eyes  from  which  rage 
was  striking  sparks. 

'  Because  I  cannot  say  what  you  want ;  because 
I  cannot  pretend  to  believe  what  I  do  not  believe, 
nor  to  disbelieve  what  I  consider  to  be  proved.' 

'  You  still  hold  her  guilty  ? '  asked  Gregor,  catch- 
ing his  breath. 

'  My  opinion  is  the  same  as  it  was  before  you 
spoke  to  me  to-day ;  not  having  been  formed  upon 
sentimental  grounds,  it  cannot  be  altered  by  senti- 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        243 

mental  considerations,  nor  by  the  fact  that  a  wife, 
seeing"  that  all  that  is  required  to  gain  her  husband's 
faith  is  protestation,  should  make  that  protestation. 
The  prize  in  view,  domestic  peace,  was  surely  worth 
putting  one  more  load  on  one's  conscience  ;  or  do  you 
imagine  that  a  woman  who  does  not  stop  at  killing 
would  stop  at  lying?' 

With  a  spring  forward  Gregor  reached  Hypolit's 
side,  and  took  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder  with 
that  wonderful  white  hand  of  his,  which  looked  so 
delicate,  and  which  yet  had  retained  some  of  the 
peasant  vigour  of  his  forefathers. 

'  It  is  you  who  are  lying  now  !  You  love  my  wife, 
and  therefore  you  would  blacken  her  in  my  eyes. 
You  cannot — no,  you  cannot — believe  the  thing  you 
say !' 

'  I  have  never  denied  that  I  loved  your  wife,' 
sneered  Hypolit,  as  with  difficulty  he  extricated 
himself  from  Gregor's  grasp.  Even  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  superiority  of  the  other's  physical  strength 
which  that  grip  had  given  him,  and  even  the  higher 
level  from  which  the  priest's  eyes  had  looked  down 
upon  him,  had  been  as  fresh  fuel  to  the  consuming 
rage  within  him.  '  Was  it  not  I  myself  who  first 
warned  you  against  the  value  of  my  evidence  ?  Also 
you  are  quite  right  to  put  me  no  further  questions, 
and  to  ask  me  for  no  further  proofs.' 

Gregor  released  him  abruptly. 

'  Proofs  !  Proofs  ! '  he  cried,  while  something  of 
the  old  uncertain  light  flared  up  for  a  moment  in  his 
eyes.  '  There  never  have  been  any  proofs  :  surmises, 


244         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

nothing  but  surmises  ;  it  is  with  these  that  you  have 
poisoned  my  ears.' 

'  Did   you   not  want   it   so  ?      Did  you   not  ask, 
almost  implore,  my  help  ? ' 

'  It  was  a  proof  I  asked  for,  not  these  worthless 
insinuations.' 

'  And  if  I  bring  you  that  proof  now  ? ' 

'A  proof?     A  positive  proof?' 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  immovable  for 
a  moment,  then  Gregor  turned  away. 

'  It  cannot  be.  Where  there  is  no  guilt  there  can 
be  no  proof.' 

'  But  if  I  bring  it  you  ?  '  repeated  Hypolit. 

'  If  it  is  an  incontestable  proof,  then  I  will I 

don't  know  yet ;  but  what  are  you  thinking  ?     What 
are  you  going  to  do  ? ' 

'  The  proof  shall  be  incontestable,'  Hypolit  said, 
more  quietly  than  he  had  yet  spoken.  '  The  only 
question  is  whether  it  is  procurable.  There  are  diffi- 
culties, but  there  are  also  possibilities,  especially  if 
the  costs  are  not  counted.'  He  was  speaking  now 
in  an  almost  businesslike  tone. 

'  I  don't  understand  what  you  are  going  to  do.' 

'  Perhaps  this  day  week  you  will  understand,  or 
this  day  fortnight ;  it  may  take  longer  than  I  cal- 
culate, but  if  the  thing  is  to  be  done,  I  shall  do  it. 
I  have  to  keep  my  promise,  you  know,'  he  added, 
with  the  shadow  of  a  smile — '  the  one  I  made  on  the 
first  day  of  the  vacation ;  nor  have  I  much  time 
either,  since  the  last  day  is  already  in  sight.' 

'Do  your   best — or  your  worst,'  said  Gregor,  as 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        245 

with  rather  unnecessary  jauntiness  he  walked  again 
to  the  door.  On  no  account  would  he  stay  here 
a  minute  longer,  nor  listen  to  any  more  of  this 
talk,  which,  although  of  course  it  could  not  shake 
his  newly  recovered  confidence,  must  yet  have  an 
irritating  effect  upon  his  nerves.  This,  at  least,  was 
the  explanation  he  gave  himself  as  he  somewhat 
precipitately  made  his  way  into  the  open  air. 


CHAPTER     XXIV 

'  T  F  you  will  come  to  me  this  evening  after  seven, 
-L  I  shall  keep  the  promise  I  made  to  you  last 
time  we  met.' 

This  was  the  note  which  nearly  three  weeks  later 
Gregor  received  from  Hypolit  Jarewicz.  During 
these  three  weeks  Hypolit  had  remained  invisible, 
nor  had  Gregor  made  any  effort  to  penetrate  the 
secret  of  his  present  activity.  What  he  would  have 
liked  best  would  have  been  to  forget  that  Hypolit 
Jarewicz  existed,  and  in  particular  to  persuade  him- 
self that  their  last  interview  had  been  a  mere 
hallucination  of  his  own  excited  fancy  ;  but  in  this, 
despite  much  goodwill,  he  had  not  completely  suc- 
ceeded. 

Now  he  stood  in  his  room  with  the  note  of 
summons  in  his  hand,  and  looked  down  at  it 
irresolutely. 

'  I  shall  not  go,'  he  said  to  himself ;  but  when  at 
the  same  moment  Zenobia  entered  unexpectedly, 
he  hid  the  paper  away  with  a  guilty  feeling, 
which,  if  he  really  meant  not  to  go,  was  absolutely 
superfluous. 

And   when    evening    came    he    went,    after    all, 

246 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        247 

principally,  as  he  told  himself,  in  order  to  show 
Hypolit  that  he  was  not  afraid  to  face  whatever 
new  discovery  he  might  imagine  himself  to  have 
made ;  and  having  told  Zenobia  that  he  had  pro- 
mised to  spend  the  early  hours  of  the  night  beside 
one  of  his  sick  parishioners.  Why  he  should  have 
gone  the  length  of  telling  a  lie,  instead  of  simply 
acknowledging  a  visit  to  Hypolit,  who  must  now  be 
on  the  eve  of  his  return  to  Vienna,  was  not  quite 
clear  to  Gregor ;  but  the  thing  seemed  to  arrange 
itself  without  any  effort  of  will  on  his  part. 

The  servant-girl  had  evidently  received  her  orders, 
for  Gregor  was  conducted  past  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room  and  straight  to  Hypolit's  end  of  the 
house.  But  Hypolit  himself  was  not  yet  there,  the 
family  still  being  at  supper,  as  the  girl  apologeti- 
cally explained  before  shutting  him  into  the  bed- 
room laboratory,  in  company  with  the  skeleton,  who 
again  wore  one  of  Hypolit's  hats,  and  seemed  to  be 
grinning  hospitably  out  of  his  corner  as  to  an  old 
acquaintance.  The  striped  curtains  of  some  oriental 
stuff  had  been  let  down  to  the  ground,  and,  sus- 
pended from  the  middle  of  the  ceiling,  a  lamp 
burned  under  a  pale  green  shade,  which  shed  a 
sickly,  subdued  light  over  every  object  in  the  room. 
The  French  novels  appeared  to  be  bound,  not  in 
yellow  but  in  green  ;  the  skeleton  might  have  been 
that  of  a  man  recently  pulled  from  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  and  still  covered  with  the  pale  green  slime  of 
the  deep  ;  while  even  the  flaming  orange  of  the  satin 
bedcover  smouldered  now  in  subdued  gleams,  like 


248        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

that  of  a  fire  on  to  which  a  pail  of  water  has  been 
emptied. 

Gregor  looked  about  him,  with  a  curious  tighten- 
ing of  the  heart  which  he  had  not  been  aware  of  at 
his  first  visit.  The  flasks  upon  the  shelves,  mys- 
terious even  by  daylight,  seemed  under  the  present 
illumination  almost  directly  to  suggest  the  Black 
Arts.  He  was  aware,  too,  of  an  odour — no,  of 
several  odours — of  which  one  undoubtedly  was  some 
sharp  flower-scent,  but  of  which  others,  with  which 
it  was  struggling,  and  which  apparently  it  had  been 
used  to  disguise,  bore  an  unpleasantly  chemical 
character  about  them,  reminding  him  of  a  doctor's 
waiting-room  in  Lemberg  in  which  he  had  once 
passed  half  an  hour.  With  a  certain  sense  of 
trepidation  he  probed  the  shadowy  corners  of  the 
room  ;  was  not  this  a  magician's  cave  into  which 
he  had  been  lured  for  his  own  undoing  ?  Astonish- 
ment at  his  presence  here  mingled  with  the  trepida- 
tion. What  was  it,  after  all,  that  he  had  come  for  ? 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  retire  before  Hypolit 
came  in — to  miss  the  tryst,  and  to  remain  for  ever 
in  ignorance  of  whatever  it  was  that  Hypolit  had 
summoned  him  to  hear?  Probably  there  would  still 
be  time  to  go  before  the  family  left  the  supper-table. 
He  looked  at  the  door,  but  instead  of  going  towards 
it  he  sat  down  on  the  chair  beside  him,  and  im- 
patiently took  up  the  first  book  that  lay  within 
reach,  ' Lettres  de  Femmes,  par  Marcel  Prevost.'  He 
could  not  even  read  this  much,  being  totally  ignorant 
of  French.  He  took  up  the  next — a  solid  volume 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        249 

this,  both  in  appearance  and  contents — 'An  Inquiry 
into  the  Effects  of  Contaminated  Air  on  the  Functions 
of  the  Breathing  Organs'  Gregor  put  it  down  almost 
as  precipitately  as  the  other,  but  at  the  same 
moment  bent  again  sharply  forward.  Among  the 
litter  of  books  stood  an  enamelled  tray  filled  with 
loose  photographs,  and  in  the  topmost  and  most 
conspicuously  disposed  of  these  he  had  recognised 
the  portrait  of  Wasylya,  the  same  portrait  he  had 
seen  in  the  Matrimonial  Album  of  the  seminary. 
For  a  moment  he  remained  in  his  bent  attitude, 
staring  at  it  fixedly,  while  the  blood  mounted  slowly 
from  his  heart  to  his  head.  It  seemed  to  him  almost 
as  though  he  had  been  abruptly  transported  back 
into  her  presence,  and  that  his  first  movement  might 
disperse  the  vision.  Then,  slowly  and  cautiously,  he 
stretched  his  trembling  fingers  towards  the  tray,  and 
with  bent  head  looked  at  the  picture,  as  one  looks  at 
a  treasure  one  had  never  hoped  to  see  again.  It 
was  long,  very  long,  since  he  had  met  those  laughing 
eyes,  even  in  counterfeit;  for  his  own  copy,  bestowed 
by  Wasylya's  own  hand,  he  had,  on  the  eve  of  his 
marriage  with  Zenobia,  destroyed,  from  a  scruple  of 
conscience.  How  that  white  rose  in  her  black  hair 
carried  back  his  thoughts  to  those  cruelly  brief  weeks 
during  which  he  had  scarcely  ever  seen  her  without  a 
flower  somewhere  about  her  person. 

He  was  still  sitting  thus,  with  bent  head,  holding 
the  picture  before  him  with  both  his  hands,  and 
wondering  why  it  was  beginning  to  grow  blurred, 
when  Hypolit  came  in. 


250        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Gregor  did  not  hear  the  door,  nor  Hypolit's  step 
upon  the  soft  carpet,  and  started  back  to  conscious- 
ness only  when  he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
Then  he  quickly  threw  the  picture  into  the  tray,  but 
not  before  Hypolit's  quick  eyes  had  marked  it.  He 
said  nothing,  but  the  gleam  in  those  small,  restless 
eyes  looked  remarkably  like  satisfaction.  Was  it 
possible  that  that  topmost  photograph  had  not  been 
quite  accidentally  disposed  ? 

'  You  are  punctual,'  he  remarked,  more  gravely 
than  was  his  habit.  '  It  is  I  who  should  have  been 
waiting  for  you.' 

Gregor  got  up  in  a  sudden  flurry.  So  deep  had 
he  been  in  thoughts  of  the  past  that  for  a  moment 
he  had  lost  sight  of  the  object  of  his  visit. 

'  It  is  nothing,'  he  said  confusedly.  '  I  came  only 
to  say  good-bye — and  in  answer  to  your  note/  as  he 
seemed  abruptly  to  remember  what  he  was  here  for. 

'  Sit  down  again  ;  there  will  be  time  enough  to  say 
good-bye  when  we  have  done  our  talk.' 

Defiance  stood  plainly  written  in  Gregor's  blue 
eyes  as  he  asked  a  little  disdainfully — 

'  You  have  something  to  say  to  me? ' 

'  I  have  something  to  show  you.' 

'  Be  quick,  please,  then,  for  my  wife  is  expecting 
me  home.' 

The  unusual  gravity,  almost  solemnity,  of  Hypolit's 
manner  somehow  put  him  out  of  his  calculations. 
He  never  could  have  supposed  that  the  absence  of 
that  delicately  derisive  smile,  without  which  it  was 
so  difficult  to  imagine  Hypolit,  could  be  so  discon- 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         251 

certing  as  it  proved  to  be  at  this  juncture.  It  was 
as  though  he  had  to  do  with  a  stranger,  and  not  with 
Hypolit  at  all. 

'  I  shall  be  as  quick  as  you  desire,  and  I  trust  also 
as  clear.' 

As  he  spoke,  Hypolit  had  walked  to  the  door  and 
turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

'  It  is  as  well  to  guard  against  interruptions,'  he 
said,  in  reply  to  Gregor's  glance  of  inquiry.  Then, 
while  the  other's  eyes  followed  him,  he  went  to  a 
small  side-press,  and,  taking  a  key  from  his  watch- 
chain,  unlocked  it.  When  he  came  back  to  the  table 
he  was  holding  a  folded  paper  in  one  hand. 

'  Read  this,'  he  said  briefly,  putting  the  paper  into 
Gregor's  hands. 

Gregor,  still  standing  beside  the  table,  took  the 
paper  as  he  was  bid,  and  held  it  beneath  the  lamp. 
It  was  not  hard  to  read,  being  written  in  an  excep- 
tionally clear  hand.  The  stamp  upon  the  paper  was 
that  of  a  chemical  institute  at  Lemberg,  and  the 
signature  that  of  the  director,  while  the  contents 
consisted  of  the  attestation  that  arsenic,  in  such 
and  such  a  proportion,  had  been  found  in  the  human 
remains  sent  in  for  analysis,  the  quantity  being  such 
as  unavoidably  to  have  caused  death. 

Gregor  read  it  all  through  to  the  signature  without 
any  especial  sensation,  because  without  comprehen- 
sion, and  then,  with  an  automatic  gesture,  handed 
back  the  paper  to  Hypolit. 

'  Why  do  you  show  me  this  ? '  he  asked  dully. 
'  It  is  one  of  your  medical  things.' 


252         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  You  don't  yet  understand.  It  was  I  who  sent  in 
these  human  remains,  Gregor ! ' 

Something  in  his  tone  cut  Gregor  like  a  knife. 

'  You  ? '  Then,  after  a  moment,  during  which  a 
surging  sound  began  to  grow  in  his  ears :  '  Where 
did  you  get  them  from  ? ' 

'  From  the  churchyard  at  Hlobaki.' 

Gregor's  gaze  became  almost  a  glare  before  he 
said,  in  a  voice  which  made  you  guess  how  dry  was 
his  mouth — 

'  You  cannot  mean — you  cannot  mean  that 

'  Yes,  I  do.  I  told  you  that  the  thing  was  difficult, 
but  that,  if  it  did  not  prove  impossible,  I  would  do 
it.  Well,  it  has  not  proved  impossible.' 

The  other  had  fallen  on  to  the  chair  beside  him, 
sideways,  and  taking  hold  of  the  back  with  his  two 
hands,  on  which  the  strained  skin  and  whitening 
knuckles  betrayed  the  convulsiveness  of  the  grip, 
laid  his  forehead  against  the  carved  wood.  A 
sensation,  not  so  much  of  horror  as  of  pure  physical 
sickness,  kept  him  helpless  for  some  moments. 
When  he  looked  up  at  last,  his  face  appeared  of  as 
ghastly  a  green  under  the  lamp-shade  as  did  the 
skeleton  in  the  corner. 

'  The  family  consented  ? '  he  asked  very  low. 

4  I  did  not  ask  whether  they  did.  I  managed 
without  anybody's  consent.' 

'  It  is  not  possible ! '  said  Gregor,  still  speaking 
faintly. 

'  Oh  yes,  it  is.  At  this  season  the  nights  are  long, 
you  know,'  added  Hypolit,  attempting  to  fall  into 


253 

his  customary  flippancy  of  tone,  perhaps  because 
he  felt  that  the  seriousness  of  the  subject  might 
otherwise  become  unbearable,  but  not  perfectly 
succeeding.  '  It  was  not  exactly  child's  play,  but 
human  ingenuity  can  do  much,  and  money  can  do 
more ;  and  fortunately  for  my  plan,  the  old  Hlobaki 
gravedigger  is  a  man  inclined  to  listen  to  reason, 
especially  when  reason  paves  the  way  to  w6dki. 
The  season,  too,  is  favourable  ;  when  leaves  are  fall- 
ing so  thick,  any  slight  disturbance  of  the  ground 
is  less  likely  to  be  noticed.' 

With  his  two  hands  planted  on  his  knees,  Gregor, 
still  deadly  pale,  sat  like  a  man  stupefied.  At 
Hypolit's  last  words  a  shiver  ran  abruptly  down 
his  back.  A  series  of  hideous  visions  started  up 
before  his  inner  eye.  Was  this  creature  he  was 
speaking  to  a  man  like  himself,  or  some  ghoul  of 
the  night,  such  as  he  had  read  of  in  the  tales  of 
his  childhood  ? 

'  I  had  never  doubted  that  I  should  find  arsenic,' 
pursued  Hypolit,  as  he  somewhat  nervously  smoothed 
his  small  moustache  ;  '  and  I  found  it,  too,  without 
difficulty.  But  my  testimony  alone  would  not  have 
been  enough  to  convince  you,  I  knew  that,  therefore 
I  sent  the — the  stuff  to  Lemberg,  where,  fortunately, 
I  have  a  friend  in  the  chemical  institute.  Without 
his  aid  I  would  never  have  got  the  result  so  quickly. 
The  chief  risk  was  bringing  on  an  investigation, 
but  I  think  I  have  averted  that  danger  by  asserting 
that  it  was  a  case  of  suicide,  and  that  the  family 
was  anxious,  for  especial  reasons,  to  ascertain  what 


254        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

poison  had  been  used.  The  answer  is  here,'  and  he 
indicated  the  paper  in  his  hand. 

Gregor  was  looking  up  at  him  with  twitching  lips 
and  haggard  eyes. 

'  Hypolit,'  he  said,  in  a  broken  voice,  '  is  there 
anything  you  believe  in  ?  ' 

'  Why  do  you  ask  ? ' 

'  Because,  if  you  believe  in  anything,  either  in 
heaven  or  upon  earth,  I  would  ask  you  to  swear  by 
this  thing  that  you  are  not  deceiving  me  ;  that  this 
testimony  really  applies  to — that  which  you  tell  me 
it  applies  to,  and  not  perhaps  to  something  quite 
different ;  in  one  word,  that  this  is  not  all  a  farce. 
You  have  learned  so  much,  and  I  have  learned  so 
little,  that  in  this  matter  I  feel  entirely  at  your 
mercy.' 

'  I  do  not  believe  in  anything  but  science  and  the 
principles  of  Friedrich  Nietsche,'  said  Hypolit,  after 
a  moment's  deliberation  ;  '  but  I  love  my  father — 
certainly  more  than  Nietsche  would  approve  of.  Will 
it  convince  you  if  I  swear  to  you  by  my  love  to  him 
that  every  word  I  have  told  you  is  true  ?  Besides, 
although  in  one  sense  you  say  truly  that  you  are  at 
my  mercy,  in  another  way  I  am  entirely  at  yours.  If 
you  are  convinced  of  the  falseness  of  my  statement, 
you  have  only  to  insist  on  an  exhumation,  an  official 
one  this  time,  made  in  all  form,  and  the  absence  of 
all  traces  of  poison  would  at  one  blow  prove  the 
groundlessness  of  the  accusation,  and  would  betray 
my  own  unauthorised  act,  on  which,  of  course,  the 
law  lays  a  heavy  penalty.  There  is  nothing  to  pre- 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        255 

vent  your  adopting  this  course, — if  you  believe  that 
I  am  lying.' 

With  one  elbow  resting  on  his  knee,  his  body 
bent,  his  face  shaded  by  his  hand,  Gregor  had  fallen 
into  the  immobility  of  deep  thought 

'  This  much  is  proved,  then,'  he  said  presently,  and 
almost  quietly  ;  '  but  this  does  not  prove  everything. 
She  was  poisoned — but  by  whom  ? ' 

'  You  know  as  well  as  I  that  there  is  only  one  person 
who  could  have  an  interest  in  her  death.  Suicide,  I 
presume,  you  will  admit  to  be  out  of  the  question.' 

Dropping  his  hand  Gregor  threw  a  long  glance 
towards  the  photograph  on  the  tray,  and  slowly 
shook  his  head.  Wasylya  and  suicide !  The  two 
things  would  not  agree. 

'  An  accident  ? '  he  suggested,  catching  at  the  first 
thing  that  came  into  his  mind. 

'  If  you  will  question  Justina  Mostewicz,  you  will 
find  that  she  never,  on  principle,  kept  rat-poison  in 
the  house.  The  only  other  poison  procurable  would 
have  been  phosphorus — by  breaking  off  enough 
match-heads  and  infusing  them  in  milk  or  spirits; 
but  it  was  not  phosphorus  which  the  analysis 
revealed,  it  was  arsenic.' 

For  a  moment  longer  Gregor  sat  silent,  his  eyes 
still  upon  the  photograph  on  the  tray,  then,  getting 
up  slowly,  he  began  to  look  about  for  his  hat. 

'You  are  going?'  asked  Hypolit,  watching  him 
curiously. 

'  Yes,  I  am  going.' 

'  And  what  will  you  do  ? ' 


256         THE   SUPREME   CRIME 

'  I  don't  know ;  nothing,  I  think.'  The  voice 
expressed  only  a  profound  exhaustion,  both  physical 
and  mental.  He  had  found  his  hat  by  this  time, 
but  still  stood  on  the  same  spot,  looking  towards 
the  table. 

'  Do  you  admit  that  I  have  kept  my  promise  ? ' 

'  Your  promise  ?  Yes,  yes,'  said  Gregor,  in  what 
seemed  a  sudden  access  of  absent-mindedness. 
'  Hypolit,'  he  added,  in  the  same  tone, '  would  you 
mind  letting  me  have  that  picture  ?  It  can  have  no 
value  for  you.' 

He  put  out  his  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  took  hold  of 
Wasylya's  photograph  with  fingers  which  evidently 
did  not  mean  to  give  it  up  again. 

The  miniature  Mephisto  had  never  looked  his  part 
so  thoroughly  as,  with  a  just  perceptible  gleam  of  his 
white  teeth,  he  answered — 

'  Oh  yes,  you  can  have  it,  if  you  care.  It  is  like 
her,  I  think.  Here  it  is,  and  here  is  the  attestation 
too,'  he  added,  with  an  affectation  of  carelessness,  as 
he  put  both  the  things  into  Gregor's  hands. 

And  Gregor  went  home  that  evening  with  the  sus- 
picion which  he  had  thought  dead,  come  back  to  life 
in  his  mind,  and  with  Wasylya's  photograph  in  his 
pocket. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

TO  fall  a  prey  to  a  mortal  disease  is  almost  the 
worst  evil  that  can  befall  us  mortal  men  ;  but 
worse  than  this  is  to  believe  ourselves  cured,  and  to 
awake  one  morning  with  the  horrible  consciousness 
that  the  illness  is  there  again, — has  been  there  all  the 
time,  only  in  a  latent  state  instead  of  in  an  active 
one  ;  to  recognise  the  old  symptoms,  one  by  one, 
and  to  know  that  the  cure  has  not  been  a  cure  at  all, 
but  only  a  stage  in  the  illness. 

This  was  what  happened  to  Gregor,  but  not  until 
next  morning.  On  the  evening  of  his  return  from 
Lussyatyn  he  had  been  too  tired  in  body  and  mind 
to  do  anything  but  lie  down  and  pray  for  the  sleep 
which,  thanks  to  the  exposure  to  the  sharp  night  air, 
mercifully  came.  It  was  daylight  which  brought  him 
the  full  recognition  of  his  state ;  daylight,  and  the 
first  sight  of  his  child.  As  he  passed  through  the 
room  where  Zenobia  was  giving  it  its  morning  bath, 
he  stood  still,  according  to  his  habit,  to  watch  the 
small  red  legs  churning  up  the  water,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  foolish  beatitude  in  the  working  of  the 
wrinkles  on  the  indiarubber  face.  The  sight  had 
been  one  of  his  daily  pleasures  for  seven  weeks 
R 


258        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

past,  but  to-day,  at  that  sight,  he  surprised  in  himself 
a  sensation  akin  to  physical  repulsion. 

'  He  is  getting  quite  difficult  to  hold,'  said  Zenobia, 
and  one  could  guess  from  her  voice  that  she  was 
smiling.  '  I  think  he  will  be  stronger  than  you, 
Gregor.' 

Getting  no  answer,  she  turned  round,  and  caught 
sight  of  Gregor's  face.  In  that  instant  she  knew 
that  something  was  wrong,  although  she  did  not 
immediately  guess  the  truth. 

'  I  have  not  said  good-morning  to  you,'  she  said, 
not  yet  quite  sure  of  her  observation,  and  wanting 
to  put  it  to  the  test.  She  held  up  her  face  as  she 
spoke,  as  she  had  grown  accustomed  to  do  lately, 
and  Gregor,  also  according  to  a  new  habit,  stooped 
and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  but  so  coldly  and  hastily 
that  Zenobia  knew  now  that  she  had  been  right. 

'  Has  anything  happened  ? '  she  asked,  with  a 
dawning  anguish  in  her  eyes  ;  but  she  knew  already 
what  was  wrong — it  was  the  old  trouble  come  back 
again.  She  made  no  effort  to  retain  him  as  he 
passed  out  through  the  second  door,  but  presently, 
the  child  being  bathed  and  put  to  sleep,  she  rejoined 
him  in  his  private  room.  This  time,  at  least,  she  was 
determined  not  to  let  that  dreadful  barrier  of  reserve, 
which  had  made  of  the  whole  summer  so  dreary  a  farce, 
grow  up  again  between  them.  She  would  stand  up  for 
her  happiness,  no  matter  at  what  cost  to  her  pride. 

In  his  room  Gregor  was  sitting  before  the  table 
with  his  head  in  his  hands. 

'  Gregor,'  she  said,  making  no  effort  to  control  the 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        259 

deep  vibrations  of  her  voice,  '  I  don't  know  what  has 
come  to  you  since  yesterday,  but  I  see  that  you  have 
again  begun  to  doubt — what  I  told  you  after  the 
birth  of  the  little  one.  You  said  I  was  not  to  speak 
of  it  again,  but  I  see  that  I  must.  Do  you  want  me 
to  repeat  my  assurance  ? ' 

Gregor  raised  his  haggard  face  from  between  his 
hands,  and  looking  at  her  with  eyes  that  were  as 
fiercely  keen  as  knives,  quivering  to  lay  bare  her 
inmost  soul. 

'  Explain  to  me,  rather,'  he  said  hoarsely  ;  '  explain 
instead  of  assuring !  It  has  been  proved  to  me — do 
not  ask  me  how,  but  proved  beyond  doubt — that 
Wasylya  died  by  poison.  What  other  hand  can  have 
given  it  her?  Tell  me  only  that ! ' 

'  Poison  ? '  said  Zenobia,  steadying  herself  by 
the  edge  of  the  table,  while  her  eyes  seemed  to 
grow  in  her  white  horrified  face;  'that  has  been 
proved  ? ' 

'  Yes.  Suggest  to  me  some  possible  explanation 
of  the  mystery.  Zenia,  I  beg  of  you,  suggest  it ! ' 

She  remained  silent  for  a  minute,  her  black  eye- 
brows drawn  into  a  single  dense  line,  while  his 
savagely  penetrating  gaze  jealously  watched  every 
shade  .of  her  expression. 

'  I  can  suggest  nothing  ;  I  know  of  no  explanation^ 
and  I  am  not  clever  enough  to  invent  one.  I  know 
only  that  it  was  not  my  hand  which  gave  her  the 
poison.  You  believe  me,  Gregor ! — say  only  that 
you  believe  me  ! ' 

'  I  am   trying  to,'  said  the  unhappy  man,  as  he 


260        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

turned   his   face   from   her  to   the   window.      '  God 
knows  that  I  want  to  believe  you  ! ' 

The  discouragement  in  his  tone  was  to  her  almost 
worse  than  the  coldness. 

'  Not  like  that,  Gregor !  do  not  say  it  like  that ! ' 
she  cried,  feeling  how  her  happiness  was  slipping 
from  her  grasp,  as  plainly  as  one  feels  a  chain 
slipping  through  one's  fingers,  and  telling  herself 
that  with  one  last  effort  it  might  yet  be  held  back. 
'  I  cannot  bear  your  coldness ;  I  have  borne  it  so 
long,  and  I  love  you  too  much  for  that, — at  least  you 
believe  that  I  love  you,  do  you  not,  Gregor?' 

'  I  wish  I  could  forget  it ! '  he  broke  out,  turning  his 
flashing  eyes  back  upon  her.  '  It  is  the  very  thing 
you  should  not  remind  me  of,  if  you  were  wise ! ' 

And  as  Zenobia  noted  the  convulsion  of  his 
features,  she  knew  that,  despite  all  her  efforts,  the 
barrier  would  again  grow  up  between  them,  that, 
in  fact,  it  was  already  standing  in  its  place. 

Within  the  next  days  and  weeks  she  knocked 
herself  against  it  more  than  once,  painfully  yet  fruit- 
lessly. She  was  neither  an  ingenious  nor  an  inven- 
tive woman,  and  always  rather  slow  in  working  out 
an  idea  ;  she  stood  by  helpless,  watching  the  consum- 
mation of  her  undoing. 

Soon  Gregor's  last  state  showed  itself  as  far  worse 
than  the  first.  '  It  was  not  because  my  reason  was 
convinced/  he  said  to  himself,  'that  I  believed 
her,  it  was  because  I  wanted  to  believe  her,  but 
now  I  have  lost  that  power.'  Rack  his  brain  as  he 
might  for  some  explanation  of  the  death  by  poison, 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        261 

which  would  be  conceivable  and  would  not  imply 
Zenobia's  guilt,  he  could  find  nothing.  It  was  no  use 
saying  to  himself  that  Hypolit's  motives  were 
apparent ;  that  jealousy  and  passion  had  driven  him 
to  the  hideous  expedient  adopted.  Of  course  the 
motives  were  apparent,  but  so  also  were  the  proofs  ; 
and  against  all  that  staring  array  nothing  to  stand 
but  Zenobia's  word — the  word  of  a  woman  who,  if 
she  had  not  stopped  at  murder,  would  certainly  not 
stop  at  falsehood,  as  that  diabolical  Hypolit  had 
truly  said.  No,  it  was  the  half-confession  made  on 
the  day  after  her  father's  death  which  was  the  true 
one.  She  had  said  then  that  she  had  been  wicked, 
and  had  suffered  for  it ;  how  could  the  other  assur- 
ance accord  with  this  ? 

During  these  terrible  weeks  the  convulsions  which 
tore  Gregor's  inner  man  began  to  be  apparent  on  the 
outer  one.  His  mouth  grew  harder,  his  eyes  wilder, 
while  his  abruptly  shrunken  cheeks  and  his  upright 
hair,  of  which  the  bright  ruddy  gold  began  to  be 
tempered  by  a  premature  sprinkling  of  silver,  made 
him  almost  alarming  to  behold.  It  is  not  jealousy 
alone  which  wears  the  constitution  and  gnaws  the 
bosom  with  the  'aspics'  tongues'  which  preyed  on 
Othello ;  suspicion  can  do  as  much,  and  more,  with 
certain  natures.  It  seemed  to  Gregor  that  even 
jealousy,  the  common  human  jealousy,  would  have 
been  easy  to  bear  in  comparison  with  this.  Had  she 
proved  a  faithless  wife,  had  she  betrayed  him  for 
Hypolit's  sake,  the  Slav's  lenient  manner  of  viewing 
any  weakness  of  the  senses  would  have  moved  him 


262         THE   SUPREME   CRIME 

to  forgive  her ;  but  the  one  supreme  crime, — no,  it 
was  too  hard  a  punishment  which  had  come  over 
him,  to  be  mated  to  a  female  Cain  ! 

His  anxiety  to  surprise  her  into  a  confession 
developed  in  him  an  unsuspected  cunning.  He 
would  watch  her  from  ingeniously  devised  hiding- 
places,  so  as  to  note  the  difference  of  her  expres- 
sion when  she  believed  herself  alone ;  whole  nights 
he  would  lie  awake,  hoping  to  catch  some  word 
dropped  in  her  sleep. 

Once  during  these  weeks,  having  been  summoned 
to  Hlobaki  on  some  business  connected  with  Father 
Nikodem's  death,  he  found  himself  alone  in  the 
orchard  behind  the  house,  and  standing  beside  the 
old  grave  monument,  on  which  the  mildewed  Matka 
Boska  still  faintly  smiled.  The  branches  overhead 
were  naked,  and  the  ground  whitened  by  a  layer  of 
snow,  thin  and  even  as  skin,  through  which  the  dead 
grass  blades  pricked  in  ungainly  fashion,  like  so 
many  bristling  hairs.  Nothing  could  be  more  un- 
like that  May  day  so  long  ago,  when  he  had  knelt 
here  on  the  then  flowering  grass  with  Zenobia  and 
her  sisters,  and  yet  the  sight  of  the  spot  carried  his 
memory  back  forcibly  to  that  moment.  He  remem- 
bered now  how  near  he  had  been  to  speaking  directly 
to  Zenobia  then ;  that  alone  might  have  altered  the 
whole  course  of  after-events.  Pledged  personally, 
and  knowing  himself  deeply  loved,  he  would  never 
even  have  glanced  at  the  other  sister,  and  that  which 
had  happened  would  not  have  happened.  Oh,  for  a 
word  of  warning  at  that  crisis  of  his  life  !  Could  not 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         263 

that  stone  image  have  opened  its  lips  to  speak  the 
word  ?  '  Betrayed  !  betrayed  ! '  he  groaned,  as,  with 
a  gesture  of  senseless  reproach,  he  stretched  his 
two  clenched  hands  towards  the  impassively  smiling 
Matka  Boska. 

His  only  comparatively  happy  hours  now  were 
those  in  which  he  shut  himself  into  his  room,  in 
company  with  Wasylya's  photograph.  The  mere 
possession  of  the  picture  had  once  more  revealed  to 
him  the  existence  of  the  unquenchable  passion,  from 
which  he  would  probably  never  be  entirely  delivered. 
Even  the  joy  in  his  child,  as  he  now  recognised,  had 
only  been  an  interlude ;  for  with  him  affection  was 
as  tenacious  as  suspicion,  as  impossible  to  root  out, 
as  narrow,  but  also  as  deep.  The  longer  he  gazed 
into  that  seductive  face  the  further  away  he  felt 
from  his  wife ;  and  it  was  the  laughter  in  Wasia's 
eyes,  quite  as  much  as  Hypolit's  evidence,  which 
prevented  him  from  reading  the  truth  that  stood  in 
Zenobia's. 

Once,  when  dusting  the  room,  Zenobia  came  upon 
the  photograph,  hidden  away  under  a  book,  where 
he  had  pushed  it  when  surprised  by  her  entrance. 
At  sight  of  it  something  like  a  revelation  came  over 
her. 

'  That  is  what  he  does  when  he  shuts  himself  in,' 
she  said  to  herself,  taking  up  the  picture  with  timid 
curiosity.  '  This  is  why  he  cannot  love  me.  Was 
she  really  so  much  more  beautiful  than  I  am  ?  Why 
is  it  that  I  cannot  gain  his  love  as  well  as  she  ? 
Perhaps  because  I  have  never  really  tried  ;  I  have 


264        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

been  content  only  to  love  him.  But  if  he  loved  me 
he  would  believe  me/  she  mused  to  herself,  with 
that  feminine  instinct  which  has  nothing  to  do  with 
logic. 

And  on  that  same  evening  Zenobia  did  her  hair  in 
a  different  fashion,  and,  because  at  this  season  she 
could  get  no  flower  to  put  into  it,  she  took  one  of 
the  blue  bows  off  the  baby's  baptismal  robe,  and 
nestled  it  among  her  thick  plaits.  But  Gregor  did 
not  even  appear  to  notice  it,  which  perhaps  was 
lucky,  as  the  pale  blue  colour  made  her  skin  appear 
almost  swarthy  ;  for  Zenobia  was  one  of  those  women 
who  do  not  know  how  to  make  the  most  of  them- 
selves— an  art  which  Wasylya  had  understood  in  a 
supreme  degree. 

But  she  did  not  lose  courage.  '  After  all,  he  is  a 
young  man  and  I  am  a  young  woman,'  she  said  to 
herself  in  her  despair ;  '  it  cannot  be  impossible  to 
make  him  feel  something  for  me.' 

And,  by  the  efforts  to  which  she  stooped,  she  did 
succeed  in  making  him  feel  something  for  her,  but  it 
was  not  the  affection  she  had  hoped  for.  Perhaps 
it  was  exactly  because  she  knew  how  to  love  that 
Zenobia  was  so  completely  ignorant  in  the  science 
of  making  love ;  what  should  have  been  an  artistic 
and  imperceptible  throwing  out  of  nets,  became  in 
her  downright  and  far  too  passionately  earnest  hands 
a  manoeuvre  palpable  to  even  the  least  acute  mascu- 
line eye.  Her  heart  was  far  too  deeply  implicated 
in  the  matter  to  let  her  head  keep  the  govern- 
ment, with  the  result  that  Gregor,  guessing  her 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        265 

aim,  shrank  yet  further  from  her,  with  a  new  sense 
of  horror. 

'  Does  she  want  to  kill  my  conscience  through  my 
senses  ? '  he  asked  himself  indignantly.  '  She  sees 
I  cannot  believe  her,  and  therefore  she  would  draw 
me  into  her  own  sin  ;  we  are  to  let  the  past  remain 
the  past,  and  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  the  crime  which 
nothing  can  undo.  My  God,  preserve  me  from  fall- 
ing so  low !' 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

HT^HERE  came  a  day,  choked  with  a  white  mist, 
JL  which,  weighing  on  the  world,  seemed  to  have 
suffocated  every  sound  and  almost  every  movement, 
and  spent,  in  part,  by  Gregor  by  the  side  of  a  dying 
man.  Owing  to  the  smallness  of  the  windows, 
shadowed  by  overhanging  eaves,  it  was  almost  dark 
in  the  low  space.  By  degrees  only,  as  his  eyes  grew 
accustomed  to  the  subdued  light,  Gregor  came  clearly 
to  read  the  features  of  the  moribund  peasant,  who 
had  been  installed  on  the  place  of  honour:  the 
broad,  flat  top  of  the  brick  baking-oven,  where  he 
lay  propped  up  with  pillows,  and  with  a  red  bead 
rosary  wound  in  and  out  of  his  skin-and-bone  fingers. 
Ripe  for  death  he  undoubtedly  was,  this  old  man, 
with  his  white,  tangled  mane,  in  which  single  black 
threads  still  lingered,  his  brown  leather  cheeks 
bristling  with  grisly  hair,  and  his  black,  sunken  eyes, 
in  whose  depth  just  now  an  uneasy  yellow  fire  was 
burning.  Neither  was  there  much  lamentation  going 
on  around  him  ;  not  because  his  grandchildren  and 
great-grandchildren  did  not  love  him,  but  because 
they  acknowledged  in  their  hearts  that  it  was  time 
for  him  to  reap  his  reward.  To  grudge  him  the 


266 


THE   SUPREME   CRIME         267 

hard-earned  rest  would  scarcely  have  been  quite 
Christianlike,  the  less  so  as  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  his  reaching  the  right  place,  seeing  that  Michal 
Skowron  had  lived  a  life  acknowledged  by  the 
village  to  be  almost  a  model  one,  showing  as  it  did 
the  smallest  record  of  drunkenness  and  wife-beating, 
and  the  largest  of  church-going,  known  for  miles 
around.  His  family  had  been  proud  of  his  life,  and 
were  prepared  to  be  even  prouder  of  his  death. 
Therefore  it  was  only  the  children  who,  not  wise 
enough  to  perceive  the  advantages  of  the  arrange- 
ment, snivelled  foolishly  in  corners,  while  the  men 
and  women  went  about  with  grave  but  calm  faces, 
and  if  they  wiped  their  eyes  at  all,  tried  to  do  so 
unnoticed. 

Just  now  they  had  all  crowded  into  the  little 
entrance  behind  the  door,  and,  but  for  the  presence 
of  two  speckled  hens  who  shared  the  family's  winter 
quarters,  Gregor  was  alone  with  his  penitent.  What 
with  the  hens,  the  many  sheepskin  coats  which  went 
out  and  in  there,  and  the  many  garlic-scented  breaths 
drawn  within  the  hermetically  closed  space,  the 
atmosphere  was  enough  to  knock  down  many  a  strong 
man,  but  not  the  seasoned  Gregor.  Beside  the  fleecy 
whiteness  of  the  mist  which  lay  against  the  tiny 
windows  as  thick  as  cotton-wool,  the  oil-lamp  before 
the  holy  image  in  the  corner  burned  of  a  dusky 
orange.  Yellow  bunches  of  maize  hung  from  the 
rafters,  where  they  had  been  put  to  dry,  the  spot 
beneath  being  much  frequented  by  the  hens  in  hopes 
of  fallen  grains.  A  deal  table,  and  a  bare  wooden 


268        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

bench  running  round  the  wall,  completed  the  furniture 
of  the  space,  of  which  the  enormous  brick  oven 
occupied  nearly  a  quarter.  The  oven  was  not  high, 
yet  high  enough  to  force  Gregor,  when  sitting,  to 
raise  his  face  towards  the  sick  man.  The  unquiet 
light  in  the  depth  of  those  eyes  had  puzzled  him 
from  the  first ;  it  could  not  be  regret  for  life — he  had 
never  met  the  sentiment  in  any  of  his  parishioners 
past  sixty — and  it  was  not  pain,  for  physically  he  was 
suffering  nothing.  Now,  alone  with  Michal  Skowron, 
he  was  to  learn  the  cause  of  this  unusual  expres- 
sion. 

'You  would  say,  Reverend  Father,  that  I  have 
lived  as  good  a  life  as  my  neighbours  ? '  Michal  was 
asking  in  that  peculiar  hollow  tone  which  generally 
means  that  the  end  is  near. 

'  A  better  life  than  most  of  your  neighbours,'  said 
Gregor  in  his  mildest  tone,  for  the  deathbed  of  this 
virtuous  old  man  was  no  place  for  a  display  of  severity ; 
'  and  you  are  soon  to  reap  your  reward.' 

Something  rattled  in  Michal's  throat,  scarcely 
possible  to  recognise  as  a  laugh. 

'  That  is  what  you  think,  and  what  the  neighbours 
think,  but  I  have  made  fools  of  you  all  along.  Look 
at  my  hand  !  Do  you  see  anything  upon  it  ? '  And, 
with  an  effort,  he  freed  one  of  his  hands  from  the 
rosary,  and  held  it  feebly  towards  Gregor. 

'  I  see  nothing,'  said  Gregor  astonished,  and  in 
fact  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  blisters 
and  scars  of  hard  labour. 

'Not?     Then  you  have  only  the  eyes  of  a  man, 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         269 

not  of  God.  You  do  not  see  the  blood  upon  it? 
But  it  is  there !  it  is  there ! ' 

From  the  poor  shaking  hand  to  the  burning  eyes, 
watching  him  from  under  ragged,  white  eyebrows, 
Gregor  looked  back  in  sudden  alarm.  When  one 
of  the  women  put  her  head  into  the  room  in  order 
stolidly  to  inquire  whether  it  was  not  time  to  bring 
the  blest  candle,  he  could  answer  only  with  a  negative 
sign.  For  a  minute  longer,  nothing  but  Michal's 
laboured  breath  was  heard,  then  he  began  to  speak, 
slowly  and  painfully. 

'  It  is  so  long  ago  that  not  more  than  half  a  dozen 
men  in  the  village  remember  it ;  you,  Reverend 
Father,  will  never  even  have  heard  of  it,  for  it  was 
all  over  long  before  you  were  born.  His  name  was 
Piotr  Ranek,  and  his  ground  and  mine  lay  together, 
down  by  the  river,  where  Gawril  Lucyan  had  his 
potatoes  last  summer.  He  was  an  aggressive  sort  of 
man,  and  always  ready  to  pick  a  quarrel.  We  had 
had  a  few  disputes,  because  of  cows  straying  over 
the  border,  but  never  anything  serious.  One  day 
towards  dark  I  came  to  my  field,  and  caught  him  in 
the  very  act  of  displacing  the  stone  that  stood  on 
the  boundary,  pushing  it  farther  to  my  side,  of  course. 
It  began  with  words,  bad  words,  of  course,  and  it 
finished  with  our  hands.  I  don't  think  I  quite  lost  my 
head  until  I  saw  Gawril  feeling  for  his  knife.  I  had 
no  knife  about  me ;  there  was  nothing  near  me  but 
the  stone.  I  did  not  know  how  strong  I  was  until 
I  saw  Gawril  topple  over  on  to  his  back  ;  the  big, 
flat  stone  had  hit  him  on  the  side  of  his  head.  When 


2;o        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

he  did  not  move,  after  a  minute,  I  began  to  under- 
stand. What  was  there  for  it  ?  Why,  the  river,  of 
course,  so  deep,  and  close  by.  It  was  nearly  dark, 
and  nobody  in  the  fields.  I  saw  in  a  minute  what 
I  must  do.  I  went  home,  wondering  whether  I  should 
be  arrested  next  morning.  But  neither  next  morning 
or  on  any  other  morning  did  any  one  trouble  me,  not 
even  with  so  much  as  a  question.  The  whole  village 
knew  that  Gawril  drank,  and  when  his  body  was 
found  a  mile  down  the  river,  every  one  thought  it 
quite  natural  that  he  should  have  ended  that  way, 
and  the  head  had  been  so  battered  against  the  rocks 
that  the  first  mark  could  not  be  seen. 

'  I  was  quite  young  when  it  happened,  and  now 
I  am  older  than  I  can  count.  All  the  rest  of  the 
time  I  have  lived  respectably,  and  all  have  wondered 
at  my  keeping  so  straight ;  they  do  not  know  what 
it  is  that  has  kept  me  straight :  the  fear  of  what  I 
had  done,  and  the  hope  of  washing  out  the  sin.  It 
was  possible  to  live  like  that,  but  I  find  that  it  is  not 
possible  to  die  like  that.  I  have  done  no  man  harm 
by  keeping  silence,  since  no  one  was  suspected ;  but 
it  is  the  silence  itself  that  I  cannot  bear  to  take  with 
me  into  the  ground.  Though  nothing  is  easier  than 
to  tell  lies  so  long  as  a  man  is  on  his  feet,  when  once 
he  comes  on  his  back  for  the  last  time,  it  is  the  truth 
only  which  can  help.  No  one  forces  me  to  speak, 
and  yet  I  am  forced  to  speak.  There  is  something 
in  lying  here,  and  in  knowing  that  one  will  not  stand 
up  again,  that  seems  to  tear  open  the  lips  and  to 
sting  the  tongue  into  saying  the  words.  Death  and 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         271 

truth — death  and  truth — they  seem  to  belong  to- 
gether.' 

With  many  pauses  and  checks,  and  interrupted 
once  by  another  opening  of  the  door,  and  another 
inquiry  regarding  the  blest  candle,  Michal  Skowron 
had  brought  out  his  tale,  and  now  lay  still  again, 
breathing  heavily,  and  searching  Gregor's  face  with 
his  uneasy  eyes. 

'  Is  there  pardon  for  me  ? '  he  asked  timidly,  startled 
by  the  hardness  in  the  priest's  fixed  gaze.  '  Can  I 
yet  die  with  the  candle  in  my  hand  ? ' 

'  Death  and  truth ! '  murmured  Gregor,  his  eyes 
still  fastened  to  the  mud  wall  opposite,  as  though 
they  would  look  through  it.  Then,  as  a  movement 
of  the  moribund  caught  his  attention,  he  pulled  him- 
self together. 

'  There  is  pardon  for  all  repentant  sinners,'  he  said 
hastily,  grasping  at  the  first  of  the  customary  phrases 
that  came  to  his  memory. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  family  filed  in  again, 
and  the  blest  candle  was  placed  in  Michal's  hands. 
Gregor  motioned  them  all  to  the  bench  by  the  wall. 

'  He  has  something  to  say  to  you,'  he  explained 
briefly,  as  he  stood  beside  the  brick  oven ;  '  but  do 
not  press  upon  him.  He  does  not  want  to  die  with 
any  veil  between  you  and  him.' 

'  Nor  that  you  should  think  better  of  me  than  the 
Almighty  does,'  whispered  Michal ;  and  then,  gather- 
ing up  the  last  remnants  of  his  strength,  he  repeated 
to  them  the  story  which  he  had  just  told  to  Gregor, 


272        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

and  which,  though  they  had  passed  their  lives  by  his 
side,  not  one  of  them  had  suspected.  Gregor,  from 
his  post  beside  the  oven,  could  follow  every  shade  of 
expression  upon  every  face,  old  and  young,  ranged 
in  mixed  order  round  the  room,  the  red-cheeked 
faces  of  children  alternating  with  the  wrinkled  visages 
of  middle-age,  just  as  they  had  sat  down  at  hap- 
hazard. He  could  watch  the  transition  from  blank, 
gaping  wonder  to  curiosity,  to  agitation,  and  finally 
to  unmistakable  consternation,  differently  expressed 
according  to  the  age  and  individuality  of  the  hearer 
— but  all  unanimous  in  one  particular:  condemnation 
of  the  sinner.  Bloodshed !  The  crime  of  crimes ! 
By  the  light  of  his  own  thoughts,  Gregor  could  read 
theirs,  without  faltering  or  doubt,  and  knew  that  for 
these  simple,  yet  rigorous  people,  eighty  years  of 
an  apparently  blameless  life  had  in  one  instant 
been  outweighed  by  the  revelation  of  that  one  black 
moment. 

And  yet  in  the  eyes  of  the  old  man  on  the  top  of 
the  oven  the  uneasy  light  no  longer  burned ;  quiet 
and  obviously  happy  he  lay  there,  with  the  blest 
candle  painfully  propped  between  his  fingers.  The 
dumb  condemnation  of  his  human  judges  could  no 
longer  disturb  one  who  felt  himself  so  near  to  another 
judge,  one  so  much  better  acquainted  with  the  holes 
and  corners  of  the  human  heart,  and  so  much  greater 
a  proficient  in  the  dispensation  of  mercy. 

***** 

As  Gregor  walked  home  through  the  blinding 
mist  which  drowned  the  brown  roofs  as  in  a  sea,  and 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        273 

hung  in  flakes  upon  the  mottled  palings,  he  seemed 
to  take  with  him  in  his  eyes  the  picture  of  all  those 
silent,  condemning  faces,  and  in  his  ears  the  sound 
of  Michal's  voice. 

Truth — yes — truth  ;  how  difficult  it  was  to  reach 
it ;  it  would  not  be  possible  to  live  much  longer 
without  reaching  it ;  he  knew  this  by  a  new  excite- 
ment within  him,  born  beside  the  deathbed  he  had 
just  left.  His  face  betrayed  him  to  Zenobia  the 
moment  he  entered. 

'  Gregor,  what  is  it  ? '  she  asked,  rising  instinc- 
tively ;  '  you  look  ill.' 

'  No,  I  am  not  ill,  but  I  have  seen  a  man  die ; 
perhaps  that  has  unnerved  me  a  little.' 

'  Michal  Skowron  ?  But  it  is  not  the  first  time, 
Gregor.' 

'  No,  it  is  not  the  first  time,  but  I  think  it  has  been 
the  worst.  It  has  taught  me  some  new  things  ;  the 
difference,  for  instance,  of  doing  a  thing  in  life,  and 
of  doing  that  same  thing  when  death  is  staring  you 
in  the  face.  Death  and  truth — death  and  truth — 
yes,  they  belong  together.' 

He  was  pacing  about  the  room  with  his  eyes  on 
the  floor,  speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  her. 
Suddenly  he  stood  still  before  her. 

'  Zenia,'  he  said,  in  the  voice  of  a  man  who  has 
come  to  a  resolution,  'this  cannot  go  on.  I  can- 
not wait  for  death  to  bring  me  the  truth ;  I  must 
have  it  now,  while  we  are  both  alive.' 

'  I  have  told  you  the  truth.' 

'  Will  you  tell  it  me  again — more  solemnly,  more 
s 


274        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

emphatically?  Will  you  swear  it  to  me  by  the 
salvation  of  your  soul  ?  ' 

'  If  that  will  help  to  quiet  you ' 

'  Then  come  with  me ;  put  something  round  you 
and  come  with  me  quickly  ! ' 

His  gesture  was  so  imperative  that,  without  asking 
a  question,  she  took  up  her  shawl  and  wrapped  it 
round  her  shoulders. 

Gregor  had  turned  to  the  wall,  where  on  a  nail 
hung  the  bunch  of  clumsy  keys  belonging  to  the 
church. 

'  Come  quickly ! '  he  said  again,  as  he  preceded  her 
out  of  the  house,  and  led  the  way  down  the  short  bit 
of  lane,  and  across  the  piece  of  waste  ground  which 
surrounded  the  church,  whose  round  towers  loomed 
like  unreal  things  out  of  the  suffocating  mist.  Not 
a  living  thing  met  them  on  their  short  road ;  for  any 
sound  or  movement  in  the  silent  lane  the  world  might 
have  been  lying  dead  around  them,  choked  by  the 
mist  that  weighed  upon  it,  and  they  the  sole  sur- 
vivors. 

Gregor  went  straight  to  the  little  side  entrance 
which  led  to  the  sacristy,  and,  with  steady  fingers, 
fitted  the  key  into  the  lock.  Inside,  still  without  a 
word,  but  with  an  evident  strain  upon  his  set  face, 
he  took  down  his  surplice  from  the  wall,  and  before 
the  eyes  of  the  wondering  Zenobia,  quickly  passed  it 
over  his  head.  Then  he  looked  about  him,  as  though 
in  search  of  something. 

'What  is  it?'  she  ventured  to  ask,  beginning  to 
shiver  with  a  sense  of  impending  solemnity. 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        275 

'  The  matches, — a  candle  must  be  lit.' 

He  found  the  matches  under  a  discarded  altar- 
cloth,  and  taking  one  of  the  heavy  bee's-wax  candles 
that  stood  in  a  corner,  lit  it  and  put  it  into  Zenobia's 
hands. 

'  Come  ! '  he  said  for  the  last  time,  and  taking  the 
book  of  gospels  from  its  case,  he  advanced  into  the 
church. 

Here  everything  lay  as  though  under  a  veil ;  the 
mist  which  pressed  against  the  windows  seemed  to 
have  followed  them  in  by  the  door,  which  Gregor 
had  forgotten  to  close  behind  them,  and  to  have  laid 
a  film  even  upon  the  bright  gilding  and  the  gaudy 
colouring  of  the  holy  pictures. 

'  Kneel  down  ! '  said  Gregor,  in  a  stern  whisper ; 
and  Zenobia  knelt  down  obediently  before  the  altar, 
the  candle  in  her  shaking  hand  raining  wax  on  to 
the  carpet  which  covered  the  steps. 

'Take  it  into  your  left  hand,  and  lay  the  right 
upon  the  Book.' 

She  did  so,  recognising  now  the  particulars  of 
the  ceremony  in  use  when  one  of  the  peasants  takes 
the  pledge  of  sobriety,  and  which  she  had  often 
witnessed. 

'  And  now  speak  after  me — 

'  I  swear  by  the  salvation  of  my  soul,  and  by  the 
hope  of  that  salvation  which  is  contained  in  this 
Holy  Book,  that  I  am  innocent  of  the  death  of  my 
sister  Wasylya,  and  know  nothing  of  the  cause  of 
her  death.' 

When  her  last  trembling  words  had  died  away  in 


276        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

the  corners  of  the  empty  church,  there  was  a  moment 
during  which  neither  of  them  moved.  Zenobia,  still 
shivering  with  excitement,  did  not  yet  venture  to 
raise  her  eyes  to  Gregor's  face,  for  fear  of  what  she 
might  see  there.  It  was  only  when  beside  her  she 
heard  a  breath  drawn — it  sounded  like  a  breath  of 
relief — that  she  found  courage  to  look  up.  The 
strain  seemed  gone  from  his  features,  as  he  stood 
with  bent  head  before  the  altar. 

'  You  can  go,'  he  said  more  quietly  ;  '  I  shall  follow 
presently.' 

And  she  went,  leaving  him  alone  in  the  church, 
and  praying  in  her  heart  that  peace  might  have 
come  to  him  at  last. 

The  mist  was  melting  into  dusk  when  Gregor 
reached  his  room.  Groping  about  for  a  light,  the 
photograph  came  into  his  hands,  but  he  put  it  aside 
resolutely. 

'  I  should  destroy  it,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  now  that 
I  am  convinced  ;  and  also  that  villainous  paper, 
which  has  done  all  the  harm,  and  which,  as  likely  as 
not,  is  a  forgery  :  that  devil  Hypolit  is  clever  enough 
for  anything/ 

He  had  made  a  light  by  this  time,  and  unlocking 
a  drawer,  took  out  the  attestation  of  the  chemical 
institute.  He  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to  push 
it  into  the  stove,  where  Zenobia's  forethought  had  lit 
a  crackling  fire  to  welcome  him  ;  but  instead  of  doing 
so  on  the  instant,  he  unfolded  the  paper  once  more, 
and,  driven  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  began  to  look 
it  over, — for  the  last  time,  he  told  himself.  He  had 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        277 

been  standing  when  he  began  to  read,  but  after  a 
moment  he  sat  down,  and  having  come  to  the  end, 
remained  in  his  chair,  frowning  at  the  sheet  before 
him.  No,  that  could  be  no  forgery ;  it  bore  the 
stamp  of  genuineness  even  on  the  texture  of  the 
paper.  Truth,  a  matter-of-fact,  businesslike  sort 
of  truth,  stared  back  at  him  from  the  official  stamp. 

But  then — but  then 

Gregor  fell  forward  with  his  head  upon  the  table. 
Another  sham  cure  !  The  evil  was  there  again  ;  not 
even  the  oath  before  the  altar  had  been  able  to 
conjure  the  disease.  What  could  an  oath — the  most 
solemn  of  oaths — mean  to  a  woman  who  had  com- 
mitted the  supreme  crime?  Even  an  assassin  could 
not  be  more  than  damned.  Had  not  Michal 
Skowron  said  that  nothing  was  easier  than  lying,  so 
long  as  a  person  was  on  his  feet  ?  And  on  his  knees 
it  was  probably  not  much  more  difficult,  so  long  as 
the  body  feels  strong  enough  to  stand  up  again. 

When  Zenobia  found  him  thus,  she  understood 
even  before  he  had  spoken. 

'  Not  yet  ? '  she  asked  reproachfully,  a  shade  which 
looked  like  sulkiness,  but  which  was  but  wounded 
pride  settling  upon  her  face.  '  You  do  not  believe 
me  yet  ? ' 

He  shook  his  head  without  speaking. 

'  But  what  more  can  I  do  than  swear  upon  the 
Holy  Book  ? '  she  cried,  in  one  of  her  rare  bursts  of 
anger. 

'  I  know  you  can  do  nothing,  but  I  also  can  do 
nothing ;  it  is  too  strong  for  me.  I  shall  continue 


278        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

to  doubt  until  death  brings  truth  with  it.  If  you  die 
before  me,  and  if  on  your  deathbed  you  still  have 
the  courage  to  protest  your  innocence,  then  I  shall 
believe  you,  but  not  before.  Life  and  lies  can  live 
together  comfortably  side  by  side — I  learned  that 
to-day ;  but  death  and  truth  belong  together.' 

Then  for  a  moment  husband  and  wife  looked  at 
each  other  across  the  table,  and  in  each  of  their 
hearts  the  thought  of  the  life  before  them  seemed  to 
stretch  like  a  long,  featureless  waste. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

A  FEW  days  before  the  Christmas  Day  of  the 
Greek  Church,  Gregor's  sledge,  with  both 
Gregor  and  Zenobia  in  it,  went  to  Lussyatyn.  It 
was  almost  the  first  time  that  they  found  themselves 
in  a  prolonged  tete-a-tete  since  that  afternoon  visit 
to  the  church.  The  situation  had  now  come  to  be 
tacitly  acknowledged  by  both  to  be  so  strained  that 
Gregor  preferred  to  come  in  late  to  meals,  and  that 
Zenobia,  too  deeply  discouraged  for  further  efforts, 
was  even  thankful  for  these  respites.  But  to-day 
there  was  no  help  for  it ;  it  was  high  time  for 
Zenobia  to  make  her  Christmas  confession  to  Father 
Urban,  who,  since  her  marriage,  had  become  her 
standing  confessor  ;  and  Gregor,  whom  ecclesiastical 
business  called  into  town,  had  no  chance  but  to 
accompany  her. 

The  cold  wind,  which  drove  the  snow  into  their 
faces,  and  made  the  covering  up  of  one's  ears  a 
necessity,  and  the  opening  of  one's  mouth  almost  an 
impossibility,  was,  despite  its  keen  edge,  welcome  to 
both  husband  and  wife,  who  spent  the  half-hour  in 
the  sledge  almost  in  silence,  though  side  by  side. 

'  Shall  I  drive  you  straight  to  the  church  ? '  asked 

279 


280        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Gregor,   when   they   had    got    into   the    streets    of 
Lussyatyn. 

'  No ;  I  have  to  buy  some  flannel  first ;  I  need 
some  more  wrappers  for  the  baby.  Please  put  me 
down  at  Fiderer's.  I  shall  go  to  the  church  on  foot. 
It  is  early  still,  and  Father  Urban  will  not  yet  be  in 
his  confessional.' 

'  Very  well ;  I  shall  try  to  catch  him  at  home,  so 
as  to  get  my  business  over  with  him.' 

Zenobia  was  accordingly  put  down  at  Fiderer's, 
and  Gregor  took  the  sledge  to  the  Jarewiczs'  house, 
where  he  found  Father  Urban  shivering  before  a 
crackling  stove,  and  with  a  second  comforter  round 
his  neck  in  addition  to  the  one  which  he  invariably 
wore  in  winter. 

'  My  throat  again  ! '  he  sighed  softly,  in  answer  to 
Gregor's  inquiries.  '  And  to  think  that  in  half  an 
hour  I  shall  have  to  go  over  there  ! '  He  jerked  his 
shoulder  disconsolately  in  the  direction  of  the 
window,  from  which  the  church  was  visible.  '  The 
girls  are  right  in  saying  that  these  wooden  churches 
are  nothing  but  boxfuls  of  draughts.  Ah,  if  I  had 
my  new  brick  church  ready  !  That  one  will  be  air- 
tight, I  warrant  you !  Just  listen  to  that  wind  ! 
Do  you  think  that  one  rug  will  be  enough  for  my 
legs,  or  hadn't  I  better  take  a  second  ? ' 

On  several  chairs  around  the  stove  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  articles  of  clothing  were  ranged,  as 
though  for  exhibition,  but  with  the  true  object  of 
absorbing  as  much  warmth  as  their  constitution 
allowed  of;  a  long  fur-lined  coat,  a  pair  of  tall  felt 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        281 

boots  to  be  pulled  over  the  leather  ones,  a  striped 
rug,  and  yet  another  comforter  of  thick,  knitted 
wool ;  this  was  the  arsenal  destined  to  defend  Father 
Urban  from  the  chilly  church  atmosphere. 

'  If  I  had  known  it  was  going  to  turn  out  such  a 
day  as  this  I  would  never  have  given  notice ;  but 
there  is  no  help  for  it  now ;  every  one  knows  that  I 
am  to  be  in  my  confessional  this  afternoon,  and 
really  it 's  getting  too  close,  as  it  is,  with  the  Christ- 
mas confessions.' 

He  smiled  at  Gregor  as  he  spoke,  a  smile  of  wistful 
resignation.  In  truth,  his  face  looked  so  ghastly, 
and  his  whole  small  person  so  frail,  that  the  idea  of 
tearing  this  feeble  old  man  out  of  his  sheltered  nook 
struck  Gregor  as  almost  inhuman.  With  the  sole 
thought  of  compassion  in  his  mind,  it  became  almost 
inevitable  to  say — 

'  Could  I  not  replace  you  ? ' 

Over  Father  Urban's  fragile  features  there  passed 
a  gleam  of  hopeful  surprise. 

'  You  ?  But  you  have  your  own  work  ;  I  have  no 
right  to  take  you  from  it.' 

'  I  am  not  wanted  at  Rubience  to-day ;  I  have 
heard  all  the  Christmas  confessions.' 

'  Dear  me,  how  lucky  !  But  I  don't  know  whether 
I  can  conscientiously  accept/  said  the  old  priest 
uncertainly. 

'  I  think,  on  the  contrary,  that  you  cannot  con- 
scientiously refuse.  If  you  go  to  the  confessional 
to-day  it  is  almost  certain  that  you  will  not  be  fit  to 
sing  High  Mass  on  Christmas  Day,  and  I  shall  not 


282        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

be  able  to  replace  you  then.  It  is  for  Christmas  Day 
that  you  should  nurse  your  throat.' 

Gregor  spoke  with  sudden  animation,  for  all  in  an 
instant  he  had  caught  sight  of  an  amazing  possi- 
bility. 

Father  Urban's  washed-out  blue  eyes  travelled 
wistfully  to  the  window,  against  which  the  snowflakes 
were  rushing  in  intermittent  gusts,  and  wistfully  lent 
his  ear  meanwhile  to  the  porcelain  stove,  in  which 
was  to  be  heard  simultaneously  the  comfortable 
crackle  of  the  wood,  and  the  howl  of  the  wind  up  the 
chimney. 

'  Really,  my  son,  it  may  be  that  you  are  right,'  he 
murmured,  as  he  settled  himself  a  little  deeper  in 
his  easy  chair. 

When,  a  little  before  the  lapse  of  the  half-hour, 
Gregor,  clad  in  Father  Urban's  fur  coat,  which  was 
undoubtedly  warmer  than  his  own,  reached  the 
church,  a  small  crowd  of  penitents  was  already 
assembled  ;  but,  peer  about  him  as  he  would,  he 
could  not  catch  sight  of  Zenobia.  A  few  heads 
were  turned  towards  him,  as  he  went  quickly  to- 
wards the  confessional,  and  a  few  whispered  com- 
ments passed,  but  Father  Urban's  parishioners  were 
too  much  used  to  these  incidents  to  feel  any  great 
surprise. 

The  cold  was  indeed  deadly  in  the  church,  and 
the  breath  that  came  from  praying  lips  floated 
visibly  in  the  air,  more  conspicuous  often  than  the 
lips  themselves  ;  for  the  darkness  of  the  weather  had 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         283 

wrapped  the  inside  of  the  building  in  a  dusk  which 
was  premature  by  at  least  two  hours.  Gregor, 
taking  his  place  behind  the  wooden  trellis,  felt  that 
his  teeth  were  chattering,  but  knew  at  the  same  time 
that  it  was  not  with  the  cold.  What  was  it  exactly 
that  he  was  going  to  do  ?  Why  had  he  sought  to 
gain  the  shelter  of  the  confessional  so  quickly,  be- 
fore too  many  eyes  had  marked  him  ?  Why  was  he 
so  glad  of  this  gloom,  which  hung  an  almost  tangible 
veil  between  every  two  faces  ?  Again,  what  was  he 
going  to  do  ?  To  fulfil  a  simple  act  of  neighbourly 
service,  or  to  commit  a  great  treachery  ?  He  was 
not  quite  clear,  knowing  only  that  if  it  were  wrong, 
then,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was 
going  to  do  wrong  with  the  consent  of  his  whole 
will.  That  he  could  not  do  so  calmly  was  proved  to 
him  by  the  wild  heart-beats  which  greeted  every 
new  penitent,  by  the  almost  unbearable  strain  with 
which  he  listened,  with  face  carefully  shaded,  for  the 
first  accents  of  every  fresh  voice  that  began  to  speak 
at  the  other  side  of  the  wooden  trellis.  Not  yet ; 
old  and  young,  sin-stained  and  almost  innocent, 
they  came  in  mixed  succession ;  the  trembling 
accents  of  scrupulous  souls  alternating  with  the 
indifferent  drawl  of  those  to  whom  the  whole  affair 
had  become  a  mere  matter  of  habit, — but  among 
them  all  she  came  not  yet. 

The  strain,  because  of  its  very  prolongation,  was 
beginning  perforce  to  relax,  when  at  last,  through 
the  thickening  shadows,  the  voice  he  had  been  wait- 
ing for  seemed  to  tear  a  passage.  It  was  almost 


284        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

impossible  that  she  should  see  his  face,  and  yet,  at 
the  very  first  accent,  he  shrank  guiltily  together, 
spreading  his  hand  more  elaborately  and  letting  the 
handkerchief  he  held  fall  in  looser  folds  about  his 
features. 

When  she  ceased  speaking  his  position  did  not 
change.  What  he  had  heard  was  but  a  common- 
place list  of  very  ordinary  offences  ;  but  there  might 
be  more  to  hear,  and  for  that  it  was  necessary  to 
question.  It  was  for  this  that  he  was  trying  to 
steady  his  nerves. 

When  several  movements  had  passed  without  his 
speaking,  the  penitent  made  a  discreet  movement, 
as  though  to  arrest  his  attention,  then,  after  another 
pause,  remarked  timidly — 

'  My  confession  is  ended,  Reverend  Father.' 

With  cold  fingers  Gregor  pressed  the  handkerchief 
closer  to  his  face.  It  was  time  to  speak  if  he  would 
not  betray  himself,  and  even  if  in  so  doing  he 
betrayed  himself,  it  was  time  to  speak. 

'  Is  it  truly  ended  ? '  he  inquired  in  a  whisper, 
which  nervousness  made  incisive.  '  Does  no  other 
sin,  some  sin  of  your  former  life,  press  upon  your 
conscience?' 

There  was  a  pause  of  surprise,  before  the  well- 
known  voice  came  back  again — 

'  Of  my  former  life  ?  But  I  confessed  myself 
three  months  ago.' 

'  Yes,  but  before  so  great  a  day  it  is  good  to  look 
back  even  beyond  the  last  absolution ' 

He  ceased  abruptly,  for  at  the  other  side  of  the 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        285 

trellis  there  had  been  something  like  a  cry,  choked 
at  the  rising. 

'  Gregor ! '  said  Zenobia,  almost  aloud.  '  It  is  you  ? 
Oh,  my  God  !' 

'  Hush  !  hush  ! '  was  his  instinctive  word,  as  in  the 
agitation  of  the  moment  he  dropped  the  shielding 
hand,  and  husband  and  wife  looked  into  each  other's 
widely  distended  eyes,  from  between  the  primitive 
wooden  bars.  It  was  the  shielding  hand  itself  which 
had  been  the  traitor.  Zenobia  had  not  seen  his  face, 
nor  recognised  the  disguised  voice,  but  that  wonder- 
fully shaped,  delicately  white  hand,  so  well  known  to 
her  and  visible  even  in  the  shadows,  had  abruptly 
told  the  truth.  And  to  think  that  the  mere  pre- 
caution of  putting  on  a  pair  of  gloves  might  have 
averted  this !  His  nails  were  blue  with  cold,  as  it 
was,  and  yet,  so  great  was  his  mental  absorption, 
that  the  idea  of  the  gloves  had  never  even  occurred 
to  him. 

Zenobia's  eyes  flared  up,  right  through  the  gloom, 
and  her  lips  moaned,  as  though  she  were  going  to 
say  more,  but  no  sound  came,  and  before  he  had 
spoken  again  she  had  risen  and  was  gone,  not  only 
out  of  the  confessional  but  out  of  the  church,  where, 
wrapping  her  cloak  about  her,  she  began  to  pace 
about  in  the  shelter  of  the  wall,  as  though  in  wait 
for  something,  and  heedless  of  the  flying  snow,  or 
more  truly  speaking,  grateful  for  its  coolness  upon 
her  burning  face. 

When  in  the  dusk,  almost  in  the  dark,  Gregor  at 
length  came  out,  he  found  her  on  his  path. 


286        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  Listen,'  she  said,  while  the  wind  which  took  the 
words  out  of  her  mouth  made  it  appear  as  though 
she  were  speaking  in  gasps  ;  '  this  must  end  some- 
how,— it  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  It  was  to  surprise 
me  that  you  went  into  the  confessional  to-day  ;  you 
hoped  to  force  some  secret  from  me.' 

Gregor  might  have  answered  with  literal  truth  : 
'  It  was  to  replace  the  sick  Father  Urban  that  I 
went/  but  he  answered  without  hesitation,  and  in 
that  same  tone  of  exasperated  excitement  in  which 
she  spoke — 

'  Yes,  that  is  what  I  hoped.' 

'  And  now  that  you  have  not  succeeded,  are  you 
satisfied  at  last  that  there  is  nothing  to  hear  ? ' 

'  No,  I  am  not  satisfied.' 

'  But  you  heard  my  whole  confession  ? ' 

'You  had  recognised  me  before  you  began,  or 
at  least  before  you  ended ;  I  am  sure  you  had 
recognised  me.' 

'But  listen ' 

'  There  is  nothing  to  listen  to ;  I  know  what  you 
would  say ! ' 

'  But,  Gregor,  this  life  is  becoming  unbearable ! ' 
she  cried  aloud,  with  the  sharp  ring  of  despair  in 
her  voice. 

'  Unbearable  ! '  he  echoed,  and  laughed  more  like 
Hypolit  than  like  himself  as  he  added  :  'And  yet  it 
has  to  be  borne.' 

She  walked  some  steps  forward,  and  turned  again. 

'  Where  is  the  sledge  ?  I  cannot  stay  here ;  I  must 
go  home  at  once.' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        287 

1  You  can  go,'  he  said,  after  a  moment's  reflection  ; 
'  but  I  shall  stay  ;  I  shall  not  be  done  with  my 
business  to-night.  Father  Urban  will  let  Fedor 
drive  you.' 

The  thought  of  the  drive  home  and  of  the  long 
evening  before  him  had  suddenly  come  over  him  as 
something  which  he  did  not  feel  equal  to  face.  Any 
pretext  which  allowed  him  to  spend  the  night  at 
Lussyatyn  was  good  enough,  and  by  to-morrow 
perhaps  something  might  have  occurred  to  him 
which  could  make  the  situation  more  endurable. 
Such  as  it  was,  it  could  not  long  remain.  Zenobia 
was  right  when  she  said  that  this  must  be  ended 
somehow. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

NEXT  morning,  very  early,  Fedor  was  back  with 
the  sledge.  It  was  so  early  that  Gregor, 
who  had  spent  the  night  in  the  Jarewiczs'  house,  was 
awakened  by  finding  Fedor  himself  standing  beside 
the  bed,  and  shaking  him  by  the  shoulder. 

'  You  are  to  come  at  once/  he  was  saying  in  his 
broad  peasant's  accents  ;  '  the  Popadia  is  ill.' 

Gregor  sat  up,  scarcely  well  awake,  blinded  by  the 
flame  of  the  tallow  candle  which  Fedor  was  holding 
all  aslant  in  one  hand,  for  it  was  still  an  hour  and 
more  from  sunrise. 

'  I  am  coming — I  am  coming,'  he  said  hastily, 
using  the  words  he  was  accustomed  to  speak  when 
awakened  in  the  night  by  a  summons  to  the  dying. 
Then,  after  a  moment,  during  which  his  brain  began 
to  clear — 

'  Who  did  you  say  was  ill  ? ' 

'  The  Popadia,  your  wife.' 

'  The  Popadia?  But  she  was  well  yesterday.  Has 
she  sent  for  the  doctor  ? ' 

'  No ;  she  said  she  did  not  want  the  doctor,  but 
only  you,  and  you  were  to  come  quickly.' 

'  It  is  what  they  call  an  attack  of  the  nerves,'  said 
Gregor  to  himself,  as  in  the  light  of  the  candle  he 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         289 

began  to  grope  about  for  his  clothes.  '  The  con- 
tinuation of  the  scene  of  yesterday ;  oh,  my  God, 
how  is  this  to  go  on  ?  Another  bandying  of  empty 
words ;  and  yet  I  cannot  but  go,  if  it  is  only  for 
shame  before  the  servants.' 

He  left  the  house  without  having  seen  any  one 
else  astir,  and,  taking  the  reins  from  Fedor's  hands, 
began  to  fill  the  still  sleeping  streets  with  the  tinkle 
of  his  sledge-bells.  There  were  no  lamps  on  the 
sledge,  but  the  two  whitenesses,  that  of  the  approach- 
ing dawn  and  that  of  the  freshly  fallen  snow,  were 
enough  to  show  him  his  road,  though  in  a  spectral 
and  unreal  fashion,  making  the  white  fields  appear 
to  melt  away  into  the  white  sky,  and  the  round- 
headed  willows  in  the  hedgerows  look  unpleasantly 
human.  Without  hurry  he  drove;  what  was  there 
to  hurry  for?  He  felt  heart-sick  already  at  the 
thought  of  that  which  awaited  him. 

It  was  daylight  already — a  dull,  colourless,  sunless 
daylight — when  he  went  up  the  steps  of  his  house. 
The  first  thing  that  met  him  was  a  sound — a  sound 
which,  even  without  having  yet  identified  it,  he 
recognised  as  associated  in  his  memory  with  some- 
thing terrible.  He  stood  still  to  listen ;  it  came 
from  the  bedroom  over  there,  and, — yes,  it  was  the 
voice  of  a  woman  weeping,  loudly  and  without 
restraint,  as  uneducated  people  weep, — as  Hania 
had  wept  on  the  day  of  Wasylya's  death.  Pushed 
by  a  sudden  intense  curiosity,  rather  than  by  any 
clearly  defined  feeling  of  anxiety,  he  went  towards 
the  room. 
T 


290        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

Zenobia,  in  the  same  clothes  she  had  worn  yester- 
day, and  with  only  her  dress  unbuttoned,  was  lying 
on  the  top  of  her  bed,  looking  towards  the  door  with 
the  same  keenness  of  expectation  as  she  had  gazed 
towards  it  on  the  day  when  he  had  found  her  lying 
here  with  her  new-born  baby  beside  her — but  not 
with  the  same  face — oh,  my  God,  no — not  with  that 
face  !  Even  physically  these  drawn  and  discoloured 
features  were  scarcely  to  be  recognised  as  the  same. 
This  lividly  yellow  skin,  these  fearfully  sombre  eyes, 
these  contracted  muscles  of  the  forehead,  did  they 
belong  to  the  happy  mother  of  that  day?  To  Gregor 
it  seemed  almost  impossible,  and  as  though  arrested 
by  some  physical  force,  he  stood  still  at  two  paces 
from  the  bed.  It  was  not  Zenobia's  sobs  he  had 
heard,  then.  In  a  corner,  with  her  apron  over  her 
head,  Jusia,  the  servant-girl,  was  uttering  those 
muffled  howls  which  had  carried  his  thoughts  back 
to  the  catastrophe  of  last  year.  He  noted  the  cir- 
cumstance without  looking  in  that  direction.  No, 
Zenobia  was  not  weeping ;  she  had  even  attempted 
to  smile  as  he  appeared  in  the  doorway — a  smile  that 
was  fearful  to  behold.  Now  she  stretched  towards 
him  a  hand  in  which  the  fingers  curled  irresistibly 
towards  the  palm,  as  they  do  in  moments  of  physical 
pain. 

'  At  last ! '  she  said,  and  the  words  came  out 
thickly,  as  though  her  tongue  were  lamed  or  swollen. 
'  Come  here,  Gregor !  I  have  done  it ;  you  will  have 
to  believe  me  now.' 

The  wild  light  which  had  flickered  up  in  her  eyes 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        291 

died  down  suddenly  as  she  hid  her  face  in  the 
pillow.  Under  the  blanket  which  Jusia  had  flung 
over  her,  Gregor,  rigid  on  the  spot  where  he  had 
first  stood,  could  see  her  body  writhing.  When  she 
looked  up  after  a  minute,  her  face  was  more  ghastly 
than  before,  and  her  voice  weaker. 

'  You  said  that  if  on  my  deathbed  I  should  still 
declare  I  was  innocent,  you  would  believe  me  ;  well, 
this  is  my  deathbed,  and  I  tell  you  again  that  I  am 
innocent.  Is  that  enough  ? ' 

'  But  you  are  not  dying ! '  cried  Gregor,  awaking 
out  of  his  stupor  with  a  rebound  of  his  whole  being. 
'  You  cannot  be  dying  ! ' 

'  I  know  I  am.  Look  at  that  glass  beside  the 
bed  ;  smell  it,  if  you  like.' 

A  tumbler,  clouded  with  milk,  and  with  a  few 
drops  of  milk  still  at  the  bottom,  stood  beside  the 
bed.  Gregor  took  it  up  automatically. 

'  It  smells  bad.' 

'  And  it  did  not  taste  good,'  said  Zenobia,  with  a 
grimace  that  was  partly  of  pain.  '  But  there  was  no 
other  means  of  getting  what  I  wanted.  It  took 
fifteen  boxes  of  matches  to  make  the  concoction  ;  I 
did  not  want  to  begin  a  second  time.' 

'  Phosphorus ! '  said  Gregor  incredulously,  as  the 
name  of  the  smell  which  had  puzzled  him  came 
suddenly  to  his  lips.  '  You  have  drunk  poison  ? ' 

She  nodded  in  silence,  turning  her  face  again  to 
the  pillow. 

'  Unhappy  woman !  But  there  is  still  time, — the 
doctor!  Why  did  I  not  bring  the  doctor  with 


292         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

me?  The  horse  is  still  in  the  sledge — where  is 
Iwan  ? ' 

He  stormed  from  the  room,  and  was  back  again, 
breathless,  in  two  minutes.  Zenobia  still  lay  as 
before. 

'  It  is  too  late  for  that  now,'  she  said  with  a 
dreadful  calmness. 

His  clasped  hands  went  up  to  his  forehead. 

'  But  Zenia,  Zenia,  you  repent  ? — say  only  that 
you  repent !  Think  of  the  sin  ! '  and  he  threw  himself 
upon  the  bed,  grasping  her  hands  and  dragging 
them  to  his  breast,  as  though  the  better  to  be  able 
to  look  deep  into  her  eyes.  The  husband,  the  lover, 
the  doubter,  they  were  all  dead  in  him  at  this 
moment,  and  only  the  priest  remained  alive,  and 
saw  before  him  a  sinner  whom  perhaps  a  few 
minutes  separated  from  eternal  damnation. 

'  You  repent,  do  you  not  ? ' 

1  How  can  I  repent  ?     There  was  no  other  way.' 

In  the  pressing  need  of  the  moment,  he  shook  the 
hands  he  held,  almost  roughly. 

'  Say  that  you  repent ! ' 

But  Zenobia's  eyes,  harder  than  ever  he  had  seen 
them,  looked  back  into  his,  unmoved. 

'  It  is  you  who  should  repent ;  it  is  you  who  have 
killed  me — with  that  cruel  doubt.  You  wanted  to 
be  a  better  priest  than  the  others,  and  you  have 
been  a  worse  one,  because  you  did  not  understand 
how  to  trust.  But  now  you  cannot  escape  me — I 
have  forced  you  to  believe, — say,  have  I  not  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes — I  believe — of  course  I  believe ! '  he  said 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         293 

almost  unthinkingly.  The  question  of  belief  or  dis- 
belief seemed  all  at  once  to  have  become  entirely 
unimportant,  a  mere  trifle  of  detail  which  shrunk 
to  nothing  before  the  horror  of  the  thing  that  was 
accomplishing  itself  before  his  eyes.  But  was  it 
really  accomplishing  itself?  It  still  seemed  to  him 
hard  to  believe.  Everything  around  him — the  very 
furniture  and  carpets  and  bedclothes — looked  so 
commonplace  and  so  familiar  as  almost  to  pre- 
clude the  idea  of  anything  so  completely  out  of 
the  common  ;  even  the  smoke-stained  face  of  the 
old  clock  upon  the  wall,  which  Zenobia  had  brought 
with  her  from  her  home,  and  even  the  patches  upon 
the  carpet,  which  had  been  applied  by  her  diligent 
fingers,  seemed  to  be  looking  at  him  with  a  reassur- 
ing smile,  as  though  they  would  say,  'Be  quiet — it 
is  not  real — presently  you  will  awake!'  It  did  not 
seem  possible  that  in  this  everyday  frame,  with  so 
little  pomp  and  ceremony,  and  with  so  much  sordid 
and  everyday  detail,  anything  so  terrible  could  really 
be  happening. 

'And  yet  I  am  not  quite  innocent,'  Zenobia  was 
saying,  while  a  look  of  deep  fatigue  began  to  settle 
on  her  face  ;  '  I  will  tell  you  all  before  I  go  to  sleep 
— it  is  strange  that  I  should  feel  sleepy  now — I  did 
not  do  it,  but  I  thought  of  doing  it.  During  those 
weeks — you  know  which — my  heart  was  very  black. 
I  would  have  taken  you  from  her  if  I  could  ;  I  was 
even  foolish  enough  to  go  to  a  woman  who  pre- 
tended to  sell  love-charms ;  but  I  could  not  get 
myself  to  follow  her  advice;  I  hoped  for  something 


294         THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

else,  I  did  not  know  what ;  there  were  moments 
when  I  wanted  her  to  die — when  I  even  prayed  for 
her  death,  and  when  it  came  I  felt  as  though  it  was 
I  who  had  killed  her  with  my  prayers  or  my  curses, 
— I  did  not  know  which.  O  Gregor,  what  a  misfor- 
tune to  be  able  to  love  like  that !  and  I  don't  even 
know  why  I  have  loved  you  so ;  you  were  not  worth 
it, — no,  I  see  now  that  you  were  not  worth  it ! ' 

Sunk  on  to  his  knees,  with  his  face  upon  the  bed, 
Gregor  neither  moved  nor  spoke.  The  man  in  whom 
spiritual  pride  had  undermined  charity,  in  whom  an 
earthly  passion  had  killed  heavenly  love,  felt  too 
deeply  abased  to  utter  a  word.  Surely,  ah !  surely 
this  was  the  woman  whom  he  ought  to  have  loved, 
— this  one  and  not  the  other.  This  was  she  whom 
he  ought  to  have  honoured  and  held  high,  instead 
of  torturing  her  to  death  with  that  cruel  doubt ! 

What  had  become  of  that  doubt  he  did  not  know 
until  late  that  night,  when  he  found  himself  holding 
vigil  at  the  foot  of  the  same  bed,  at  the  head  of 
which  now  burned  two  wax  tapers,  and  where 
reposed  a  stiff,  white  form.  Until  now  his  soul, 
buffeted  between  a  wild  remorse  and  a  yet  wilder 
rebellious  upleaping  against  fate,  had  found  no 
moment  to  go  to  account  with  itself.  Now  only, 
alone  with  the  dead,  he  knew  at  last  that  when  he 
had  said, '  I  believe/  it  had  not  been  only  with  his 
lips,  but  that  he  actually  believed,  fully  and  com- 
pletely, without  understanding,  and  without  even 
wishing  to  understand.  The  proofs  which  spoke  for 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         295 

her  guilt  were  there  the  same  as  ever,  but  they  had 
abruptly  lost  their  value.  The  truth  was  not  there  ; 
but  here  upon  this  bed,  pillowed  side  by  side  with 
death, — they  belonged  together  inseparably,  exactly 
as  Michal  Skowron  had  said. 

In  the  first  hours  after  the  accomplishment  of  the 
catastrophe  it  had  not  seemed  possible  to  escape 
despair.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  child,  Gregor 
would  probably  not  have  escaped  it.  It  was  that 
wrinkled,  red  face  that  abruptly  showed  him  the 
only  means  of  atonement  still  open  to  him — that  of 
bringing  up  his  son  in  the  conviction  of  his  mother's 
innocence,  so  as  to  stand  ready  armed  against  the 
calumny  which  could  not  fail  to  reach  the  ears  of 
the  man.  From  his  cradle  he  should  learn  to  revere 
her  memory  as  that — if  not  of  a  saint,  yet  most 
assuredly  of  a  martyr. 


EPILOGUE 

ZENOBIA  had  said  there  was  'no  other  way,' 
but  she  had  been  wrong,  for  there  was,  after 
all,  another  way ;  a  way  so  simple  that  human  per- 
spicacity had  blundered  past  it,  leaving  its  detection  to 
what  some  people  call  Providence,  and  others  Chance. 

Two  months  had  not  yet  passed  since  the  sensa- 
tional death  of  Zenobia  Petrow,  when  in  one  of  the 
grim,  bare-walled  spaces  of  the  Landesgericht  at 
Lussyatyn,  the  whole — anything  but  complicated 
mystery — came  abruptly  to  light.  It  was  not  so 
much  the  curiosity  awakened  by  this  second  remark- 
able death  as  the  indiscretions  of  the  old  grave- 
digger  at  Hlobaki  which  had  set  the  stone  rolling. 
The  desecration  of  a  grave  was  an  idea  so  pro- 
foundly offensive  to  the  popular  religious  taste,  that 
the  moment  Pawel  Prokup  began  to  grow  loquacious, 
as  he  was  apt  to  do  in  his  cups,  the  alarm  caught 
like  fire  on  dry  wood,  and  grew  and  spread,  until 
the  authorities  found  the  necessity  of  an  investiga- 
tion pressed  upon  them. 

The  desecration  once  verified,  there  unavoidably 
arose  the  question  of  motive;  thence  a  further  inves- 
tigation, and  the  plain  proof  of  poison  having  been 
used.  By  whom  ?  The  popular  mind  thought  it 

296 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME        297 

knew,  and  also  that  the  culprit  had  put  herself 
beyond  the  reach  of  Justice.  But  Justice  herself  has 
a  habit  of  at  least  attempting  to  form  her  own  con- 
clusions. A  lengthy  examination  of  all  the  persons 
concerned  was  the  only  means  at  her  command,  and 
among  those  persons  was  Hania,  the  servant-girl 
still  attached  to  the  widowed  Popadia's  household. 

Until  this  moment  no  evidence  of  any  interest  had 
been  elicited,  or  rather,  everything  had  appeared  to 
bear  out  the  popular  assumption. 

'  You  are  quite  certain  that  your  mistress  never  gave 
you  rat-poison  to  use,or  perhaps  fly-poison,  to  put  upon 
a  plate  ? '  the  officiating  functionary  asked,  severely 
fixing  the  girl  through  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles. 

Hania,  despite  her  evident  nervousness,  was  quite 
certain  of  this. 

'  And  you  declare  that  Zenobia  Petrow,  then 
Zenobia  Mostewicz,  was  aware  that  Ursula  Adamicz 
sold  white  powders  which  could  kill  ? ' 

'  She  was  aware  of  it.' 

'  Through  whom  ?  ' 

'  Through  me,'  murmured  Hania,  casting  a  terri- 
fied glance  towards  the  Popadia,  who  having  under- 
gone a  similar  interrogatory,  had  taken  a  seat  in  the 
background  of  the  room.  It  was  evident  that  neither 
time  nor  catastrophes  had  diminished  the  terror  of 
her  mistress,  in  which  Hania  chronically  existed. 

'And  Zenobia  Mostewicz  visited  Ursula  Adamicz  ?' 

'  I  think  she  did ;  I  am  not  sure.' 

1  Did  she  ever  send  you  to  fetch  anything  from 
Ursula  Adamicz  ? ' 

'  No,  never.' 


298        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

'  But  you  were  seen  entering  the  hut,'  remarked 
the  inquisitor,  with  a  sharper  glare  of  his  spectacles. 

Hania's  pink  doll's  face  became  scarlet. 

'  She  did  not  send  me.' 

'  Then  you  went  on  your  own  account  ? ' 

Hania  pulled  desperately  and  in  silence  at  her 
woollen  gloves. 

'  I  warn  you  that  by  any  prevarication  you  are 
exposing  yourself  to  suspicion.  If  Zenobia  Moste- 
wicz  did  not  send  you,  and  you  did  not  go  on  your 
own  account,  then  why  did  you  go  ? ' 

'  Because  I  was  sent — by  the  other  one,'  blurted 
out  Hania,  with  another  deprecating  glance  towards 
her  mistress. 

Among  the  attending  functionaries  there  was  a 
stir,  slight  but  significant. 

'  Which  other  one  ? ' 

'  Panna  Wasylya.' 

'  What  did  she  send  you  for  ? ' 

'  For  a  powder  for  her  face.  She  had  got  a  rash, 
and  had  tried  everything  for  it,  and  when  I  told  her 
that  Ursula  Adamicz  sold  beauty  powders  which 
made  the  face  beautiful  in  a  few  days,  she  would 
have  some  at  any  price,  but  no  one  was  to  know  it ; 
so  she  gave  me  money,  and  I  had  to  go  in  secret.' 

Every  one  had  drawn  a  little  nearer  now ;  even  the 
clerk  who  was  taking  down  the  evidence  stopped 
writing  to  stare  at  Hania,  while  upon  her  chair  in 
the  background  Justina  Mostewicz  stiffened  suddenly 
into  an  attitude  of  close  attention. 

'  And  what  was  the  powder  like  which  you 
brought  ? ' 


THE  SUPREME  CRIME         299 

'  Quite  white,  and  it  tasted  bitter,  for  I  put  some 
on  my  tongue.' 

'  And  Wasylya  Mostewicz  took  it  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  she  took  all  the  three  powders  at  once,  for  she 
hoped  the  rash  would  go  before  she  went  to  church.' 

The  spectacled  functionary  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  passing  his  handkerchief  across  his  brow,  as 
though  after  a  severe  exertion. 

'  I  think  the  investigation  will  give  us  little  further 
trouble,'  he  remarked,  looking  round  at  his  col- 
leagues, while  gratified  complacency  began  to 
temper  the  severity  of  the  official  manner.  '  Every 
one  knows  what  these  "  beauty  powders "  are,  of 
which,  unfortunately,  so  free  a  use  is  made  by  our 
ignorant  populace.  What  made  you  not  speak 
before  ? '  and  with  a  fresh  access  of  fierceness  he 
glared  again  at  the  agitated  witness.  '  What  made 
you  keep  your  errand  to  Ursula  Adamicz  a  secret  ? ' 

'  I  had  gone  without  leave,'  said  Hania,  ducking 
her  head,  almost  as  though  to  dodge  a  slap  on  the 
cheek,  or  a  box  on  the  ear. 

But  her  mistress  was  not  thinking  of  her  just  then  ; 
her  thin  lips  had  parted  in  what  looked  like  a  smile 
of  triumph,  and  her  brown  leather  face  seemed 
illuminated  in  a  way  which  the  foolish  little  servant- 
girl  could  not  in  the  least  understand,  as  little  as  she 
understood  the  reason  of  the  sensation  which  she 
saw  about  her, — and  all  caused,  it  would  seem,  by 
her  evidence.  After  all,  it  had  only  been  beauty 
powders  which  she  had  fetched,  and  not  that  other 
deadly  powder  of  which  she  had  told  Zenobia.  To 
expect  of  her  intellect  that  it  should  discover  any 


300        THE  SUPREME  CRIME 

relation  between  these  two  differently  named  wares 
was  putting  too  great  a  demand  upon  it. 

Nor  did  she  ever  quite  understand.  To  her  and  to 
many  other  primitive  minds  the  verdict  of :  '  Death  by 
an  accidental  overdose  of  arsenic/  said  nothing,  and 
could  not  alter  the  fact  that  Ursula  Adamicz  sold 
two  kinds  of  powders,  of  which  one  claimed  to  dis- 
pense beauty,  and  the  other  death. 

Among  those  who  understood  was  Hypolit,  and 
he  did  so  with  a  sensation  that  was  far  more  like 
disappointment  than  remorse.  So  she  was  not 
exactly  the  woman  he  had  taken  her  for !  Might 
not  this  discovery,  made  earlier,  have  succeeded  in 
cooling  that  passion  whose  bitter  force  had  driven 
her  to  her  death  ? 

The  greater  part  of  the  public  made  the  same  re- 
mark :  '  So,  after  all,  the  mother  is  right ! '  Whenever 
the  words  reached  Gregor's  ears,  his  bowed  head  bent 
lower.  Yes,  it  was  the  mother  who  was  right,  not 
because  she  was  cleverer  than  the  others,  but  simply 
because  she  could  believe  no  evil  of  her  child.  If  he 
had  been  able  to  love  her  as  the  narrow-minded 
Popadia  had  loved,  then  he  would  have  believed  in 
her,  as  the  Popadia  had  done — stupidly  but  faithfully, 
without  understanding  and  without  doubting. 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  CONSTABLE,  (late)  Printers  to  Her  Majesty 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press. 


IY  FACILITY 


